Jesus. What a day. I woke up this morning with the pukes and some other unnecessary shit to mention. Heave-ho'd a total of four times throughout the day. Boy what fun. Then to top it off, I scored a 102 degree fever. Ahh...it's not the flu...but I don't doubt that it's food poisoning. Hooray! So I didn't get to head back to PGH today, but I hope to tomorrow. Now it's time for bed, kids.

Was there ever an Egyptian queen named Hymenestra?

...just wondering.

Orange juice and sliding into the big murk. OJ. O.J. Simpson. Well, yeah, and kids loved Michael Jackson, too at one point. We can not pick our villains. Those we admire or seem to always manage to turn out shitty. So this is why I'm telling you kids that once you turn me over you will find nothing but a horrendous moldy monster that doesn't really give a shit, ok? Just telling you that now so when it finally crops up on an episode of Larry King or whatever, it's no big shocker.

On another note, that Caroline Rhea lass is sexy. I could go for some of that.

Talk talk...chat away why you're lost in some altered panic. Is this fast or am I slowing down? You play the words out that you know will work, and sure enough they work and the next thing you know you're in some imaginary hotel room fucking the hell out of some girl who's fucking the shit out of you.

Ghosts then, you say. Haha. Well, this place was just built back in August, how could that be? Well, ghosts don't have to haunt old paces. They can move in whenever they like. Chatter chatter. They keys chatter as you press them in rapid fire succession wondering if they can possibly catch up with your brain that keeps adding words in on a whim. Naked in a spa and dead and nude splashed across newspaper headlines.

As if there was some cure to the itch the madness that is typing and writing and spilling off dreadful fantasies and nostalgic concoctions of which there can be no one to answer for. Hello? Who's that? Salamander from Sasketchewan. Are you there? Are you receiving? Perceiving? Can we fuck later on?

Why alter your perceptions? Why not? To go from a sharp kind of clarity to soft focus...well, that's all right. People do what they do. I scratch my back and my shoulder and well, that's all right. I figure I can function just like the rest of them on any typical night down any typical walkway. It's why I quite writing my book. I quit. It was just too...ridiculous, too trying to be too out there, but maybe it was original enough, I dunno. I think now though having had other experiences and distancing myself from that part of me that used to write in that kind of way, I can reapproach a long form type of situation, but then I wonder why bother.

Why bother...when the blue box flashes. That's all the time you have. There's no more than that. Click click tick tick. The end. Like waiting for cellophane to shrink in your fingers from the heat of your palms. Like waiting for Marlon Brando to really finally lose it once and for all and wind up dead and nude in some spa in some foreign country and have it splashed across every paper in the world.

Found the necessary script and changed over to Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. As if that could ever miss.

Here I am listening to Aladdin Sane again. No dopiness tonight. Would beer cure that? Probably.

More Stoned Weirdness

"And get the dogs out of their mouth."

"A metal heart corroboration."

"She said most of em...anyway."

"There's nothing wrong with having the other math."

"There's gotta be a shower head that I don't want to get your feelings hurt."

"I know, but if you're actually gonna make your right face..."

"My job is to fast food that damn tablecloth out there."

It's deja vu all over again.

Aerosmith's Greatest Hits plays ad infinitum as I drift on Compoz. Is this a point where your cranky old music critic starts espousing the virtues of some OTC substances? Never, kids, never. As Nancy Reagan used to urge: "Just Say No". I wonder if that meant to just say no to greasy drug pushers or the clowns in your subconscious that also tell you Underwood deviled ham is good.

You have sleeping pills, you sleep till 11 AM.

BENT CHOICE's "Blackberry Rabbit", a song that was previously on the Soundclick Experimental charts is now back again at #21. Thank you dear people for really enjoying shit.

Strange bits as I drift in and out of sleep while dosed on Compoz

"There's someone driving the strings attached to the steering wheel."

"Uh-huh...well it's right there off of 78."

"You know...it's like...it's like the Stillburns' toughness..."

"Did they dealt with that wrench?"

"I mean, you don't have to sleep on that couch, you can make your homesick there."

"Yeah, bum the set off of them."

"Well Jen bought a company in Philly."

"I...don't channel honey. I don't channel honey 'cause it's with a promise."

"Some menorial crowds."

"But Bressley did and bong fight each other."

What Makes Your Blog Boring

Blogs that include long chat transcripts bore the shit out of me. And I'm sure my little nuggets bore the crap out of you, too. It's what makes the world go around. Listening to that damn Aerosmith CD again. Hmm....

Neon Meate Dream Of A Octafish

OK, so this is like the fourth time of grooved to Trout Mask Replica this week in its entirety. I always loved the album, but have really been playing the shit out of it lately. I suggest you all go have a listen to it as well. You know you want to fuck to "Pena".

I'd also like to let it be known that many more BENT CHOICE and songs under my own birth name have been charting madly over at Soundclick.com. "Cindy Sherman" from the Black Cow album is currently at #10 on the Alternative Power Pop chart, and "Electric Snow" from The Outskirts is #35 on the dance chart. Groovy.

I'd also like to let it be known that many more BENT CHOICE and songs under my own birth name have been charting madly over at Soundclick.com. "Cindy Sherman" from the Black Cow album is currently at #10 on the Alternative Power Pop chart, and "Electric Snow" from The Outskirts is #35 on the dance chart. Groovy.

Apparently there's been some sadness in the NEIL GAIMAN Groupie Camp about the fact that the Associated Press printed the town where Gaiman lives in its story about his trial vs. Scott McFarlane regarding Spawn. Waaah. Who gives a flying fuck? Goin' to court over comic book characters! Yeah man! Hey yer Spawn's in my Death! Yer Death is in my Spawn! Fuck off!

You already know I think Gaiman is a drag. But I just wanted to hip you to this drivel.

OK, maybe I'm turning into a bigger Aerosmith fan. This is now the third time in a row I've let the Greatest hits disc play. I went to Amazon and scored me some dirt cheap used Aerosmith CDs in light of this. Lovely.

What'cha been doin', J?

Well kids, I moseyed back down to TN for the week. Currently sitting here having listened to Bowie's Aladdin Sane and am now knee deep in Aerosmith's Greatest Hits. I picked both up at Best Buy today for $9.99 each, so I can't complain. Only ever had the Bowie album on tape before, so it was a good time to upgrade. Not really my fave album of his, but "Watch That Man" and the ooky version of "Let's Spend The Night Together" are well worth having.

And the RIAA thinks I'm not buying enough music since I burn mp3s. And here I am rebuying shit I already have. Fuck you, Big Industry. :)

Echo From Esoterica updated for October

Yes, kids we're back with another new issue of EFE. This month we have interviews with Maureen Tucker of The Velvet Underground and John Wozniak of Marcy Playground to name but a few. So stop on by and check out the latest from Lo-Hi, The Paybacks, and lots more.