theres a knot in my forearm right near my elbow but on the inside, about the size of a plum.

the sexy girl sitting on my lap says its carpal but i say its the devil and im never wrong about my body.

fucker creeps all around me, in the neck, down the back, pokes through my legs, made me cut myself shaving, thins my hair, steals my memories, eats my dreams, whispers evil anthems of dirty lies when i least expect it and never stops but ive got your number buster and this body ain’t big enough for the both of us.

limped out of the black copter today, this is the second day a row they let me up in her.

i wanted to tell you about it yesterday but i was busy not playing xbi softball.

this birds different than my flying car. my first year at school in isla vista i was dating two girls. one was on the womens lacrosse team. chicks with sticks. polo shirt and plaid skirt. little white dirty socks and new balances.

the other girl was a girl. sweet. high voice. squeaky even. cute as hell. smelled so good.

the black bird and my flying car are like those two girls. ones soft the others smooth. ones hard the others light.

when one got excited she attacked, the other would take it down and submit.

this invisible black eyeball in the sky is aggressive and willing and nasty and nice.

it knew my name before i knew hers, turn it on and its not afraid to purr.

it goes so fast and turns so sharp you think it wants to die it wants to die it wants to kill right before it dies.

because of that theres a team on the ground that rides with you at the hq and theres a computer that projects on the windshield.

chopper one is definitely the finest single man flying machine ever dreamed up on stage or screen and somehow they consider this a demotion.

they put contact lenses on you. drc. direct retina control.

if i had dreams, this is what i would want to dream about.

only thing it doesn’t have is a cd player.

hq will pump in whatever tunes you want but sometimes you just want your little mix cds right there with you.

did a few hours in the sky above the clouds. messed around over silverlake. buzzed over my old place in atwater. did a fast land in koreatown and took the 21 to wilshire and western which dropped me off at the wiltern. it was six pm. the young lesbians were lined up already for the ani defranco show. nothing cuter than happy young lesbians about to see a concert.

crossed the street to get on the subway and i wrote ani’s name on the plum sized bulge in my arm that pretends it’s not the devil.

that way i knew what i would ask hq to play for me tomorrow when i fly that bitch along the beach.

my next girlfriend: katherine hall

Ryan Adams

October, 23, 2002

Wiltern Theatre, Hollywood, CA

reviewed by anna

oh tony. he was so good. he was unbelievable. and so romantic in a tragic-like way…

enrique was holding my hand through certain songs. you really couldn’t help yourself.

played a lot of songs from his first and second records which was great. not too much from the new record which was fine by all of us in crowd.

smoked like a fiend. would smoke. spit the cigarette out. jam. and then pick up the cigarette and continue smoking. really funny.

he had a persian rug in the center of the stage with a record player on one side and a little coffee table on the other side with a nice wooden chair in the middle that he played acoustic guitar from.

he plugged in and rocked for a few songs and had these two woman that backed him up occasionally on vocals .. and played cello and violin. heartbreakingly beautiful for some of the songs.

did the most breathtaking, slowed down sexy version of brown sugar i’ve ever heard … on the piano. women were swooning and men were even shouting to him.

the audience was surprisingly quiet and let him fill the space with his voice. a few rowdy women would shout in the quiet “You Rock Ryan”! “I love you Ryan” and then people of course shouting back to shut the F*** up. stupid. but, otherwise total silence to allow him to sing his sad, beautiful songs.

we sat up in the mezzanine which is a tough call for a show like this because the sound didn’t travel too well up there. so some of his mumblings we didn’t catch. but the bottom was all open so you don’t really want to stand for a show like this…

he also play Madonna’s Like a Virgin and played along with the record, mostly mocking it.

but we were blown away.


still miss whiskeytown. but i’d rather have any part of ryan adams i can get than none at all.

now you listen to me little missy

Dear Godfather of Blog,

I am sorry to read that you received grumpy mail. I think your response to the mean guy’s mail was powerful, fair-minded, and generally typo-free.

Jealousy is a bitter, twisted thing. I should know. People are jealous of me all the time. They just don’t know it yet. No, really.

I’d like to invite you to a celebration, a celebration of the 100th visitor to my site.

Your blog is in inspiration, one of the main reasons I started my own blog some seven years ago.

In my league of heroes you are right up there with Doug Henning and Ivan Putski. That’s rare company, my bro.

Please come visit and leave a favorite memory or monetary gift.

Keep up the good work!

Your friend and fan,

c monks

dear c,

your words mean a lot to me.

i cannot believe that in seven years on the web you’ve only gotten 100 hits.

i appreciate the high place of honor that you put me into between mr. henning and mr. putski (pictured.)

you’ve also sparked an idea that i think i will start doing from now on, and that is to link one person after or during each new post.

i love being linked, im sure everyone feels the same way.

anyhow, give my best to the missus, and i hope this thursday is a good one for you.

best regards,


not all the emails i get are nice

and i guess i should have expected that once all the tony love hit the world there there’d be a little bit of backlash. and of course there is.

one particular anonymous emailer wondered who the fuck i thought i was to think that i could write not one or two interesting things a day but three or four? it wondered if i knew i was a self-righteous narcissist who really couldn’t write and should capitalize my words and go back to school to learn how to punctuate.

to whom it may concern,

i know im no good at punctuation, capitalization, imagination or evaporation, and i know i’m narcissistic, look at my url, sherlock.

i like it that my style pisses some people off.

i like it that people become jealous of whatever it is that this is. (no, the emailer wasnt the vodkapundit, who i love.)

i like it that some people are so aggravated by their own so-called life that they think it’ll make them feel better by telling me to go to hell.

send me your misery, your hate, your gripes, your jealousies, your anger. your poor huddled massive bs yearning to be set free.

feed me with your fears.

im rubber, you’re glue… but that’s not true.

if it makes you feel better to try to chip away at me or dynamite me or type type type at me complaining about the obvious, be my guest, email me.

if you’re going to hate me for anything, hate me for always finding the good part of a fucked up situation.

your hate brings a smile to my face cuz i know im helping you.

yes, you, the one with the envy issues.

the one with the bad blog.

theres very little worse than a bad blog.

an unread, bad blog, perhaps, written by a lost soul with nothing to say but spelled correctly

and punctuated like a sixth grade teacher whose red felt pen just ran out of bitterness.

in other news, i forgot to thank my buddy sean over at for flowing the busblog $5 on my birthday via paypal. thanks bro!