nothing in here is true

long before blogs i thought that one up because i was writing poems at the time, sad poems, angry poems, scary semi suicidal poems at the time

and i didnt want to make people nervous. namely my friends and family.

it didnt work.

great line but no one knows what to do with it.

scribners can slap fiction on the side of sun also rises but everyone knows fucker did go to spain did go to the bullfights and did drink his ass off, so whatever with your labels man.

nothing in here is true.

and you can repeat it but it doesnt work. for some it dares them to look that much deeper to find the real truth even if there isnt any real truth,

seriously who puts truth in a blog?

hem was fat and drunk and probably bi which aint so bad for a writer. who knows, maybe thats why he was able to write such newstyled female characters who were tough and sharp and indie and moderne.

maybe thats how it was back then, quick thinking quick talking sassy


whose pupils beamed when you called them that
and whose smiles peeked out when you meant it.

and hem gave you the truth up front but you didnt know it because it sat there on a bed of beautiful lies.

hemingway wrote like a man who knew how to quiet down a room of ticking clocks just by being there

while wearing that classy clark gable moustashe that no one even dares attempt these days for fear that people would hiss fraud as they passed in the street.

today i interviewed the president of goldenvoice, the revered la punk and alternative promoters of the 80s and 90s, who after clear channel and a few other mega corps squeezed them out of the traditional concert business (by signing long term exclusive contracts with the arenas, or just straight up buying the venues outright) thought up a little masterpiece named Coachella which the LA Times hailed as “easily the premier large-scale event on today’s U.S. rock landscape.”

Goldenvoice in a nutshell (is) more an emotional thrill ride than
a standard business. It began in 1981 as an I-think-I-can upstart,
stepping into a void left by mainstream promoters scared of punk and
unaware of the vital rock scene bubbling beneath the Top 40 surface.

Goldenvoice had a field day bringing bands out of their do-it-
yourself circuit into established venues with professional sound and
production. The company also had a nose for the best of L.A.’s
thriving scene. (Goldenvoice President Paul) Tollett recalls a
1987 Goldenvoice concert at Fender’s in Long Beach,
where the opening act stole the show from the other nine bands.
The group was called No Doubt.

Talent agent Marc Geiger, who represented such acts as the Smiths, Echo & the Bunnymen and New Order with his partner Don Muller, remembers how Goldenvoice dominated the underground music scene.

“Goldenvoice bought everything and, more important, they were also the nice guys,” says Geiger, who later co-founded the Lollapalooza tour. “They’d be the guys who would be backstage handing out joints and letting extra people on the guest list and not being uptight, in a town where not being uptight gets you far.”- LA Times 4/29/04

it’s good that i hadnt read that before i interviewed mr tollett because it was nice to be pleasantly surprised by his offer to be put on the guest list for this year’s two day nearly sold out concert starring weezer, nine inch nails, wilco, bauhaus, new order, the arcade fire, gang of four, the raveonettes, rilo kiley, the chemical brothers, spoon, bright eyes, tegan and sara, keane, the secret machines, and many others.

we spoke for twenty minutes, an assignment i was given by our good friend kate at the weekly. mr tollett was very easy to talk with, he truly understood good music, and seemingly enjoyed our conversation also. i thanked him for setting up the secret pixies show last year as a tuneup for headlinging gig the next day down the 10 and he convinced me that no matter what i might think about trent reznor’s commercial success over the last few years, or lack thereof, on a live stage hes unforgetable.

and so i said, great, then why also have coldplay, and he basically said different strokes for different folks and we were cool.

the one thing i didnt have the guts to say was that he needed to set up an old mans section on the side that would be airconditioned with nice chairs that had waiter service where pretty girls would deliver cold beverages and snacks at ridiculously high prices.

maybe i’ll let him in on that one when i muster up the courage to ask for a photo pass after the article runs and he sees that im legit.

and once i wrote a book of happy love poems and i put nothing in here is true so people wouldnt vomit all over the pages.

midnight magicka + sk smith + nancy rommelmann

kurt was singing hank sr. tunes on the bus

as we bounced down the blue highway through the desert. it was a bumpy ride, but they had olympia tall boys in a cooler that never seemed to empty.

after a while i fell asleep and woke up and it was nighttime and we had just pulled into what looked to be a whore house.

coming out? kurt asked.

it was just like you’d imagine it: girls in wild west outfits, long skirts, petticoats and bonnets being chased around by guys in their long johns spilling their jugs of moonshine while a man in a vest smoking a stogie bangs out ragtime on a worn out piano.

i love you, kurt cobain.

well this isnt really what you probably think it is.

this is heaven, right?

no, we’re still a long way from heaven.

its a house of ill repute, no?

sorta. these women are yours for the taking, but first you have to accomplish a very important task. several, actually.

just say the word my man.

i had my eye on an asian lass who was scrubbing the back of an old prospector with a brush with a long handle in a bathtub that stood right there in the middle of all the action. she winked at me and blew me a kiss that, i swear to you ladies and gentlemen, i felt right on my cheek.

behind that door right there is an arcade. there are many pinball machines in there. it will be your job to play and think about your life.

shit man, are you sure this aint heaven?

now just dont think about just any old thing as this room is special. what you need to do is think about any unfinished business you might have to do.

like bills i need to pay?

exactly. bills, tasks you havent yet done. this is your chance to tie up any loose ends. think. play. and as you play, your thoughts will get fed into the machine and the little angels will do as needs to be done.

so like, i have this busblog book.


yeah, creepy mindreader. Blook was supposed to get sent out on Friday but i got stabbed.

okay, what you do is as you play think about where the list of address are and where the books are and pretend you have esp and tell the angels what you want them to do.

can they autograph my name for me?

yes, they can do anything you want. but they wont do anything unless you think it, so think every step.


so if your list is behind a wall safe, esp them the combonation to the lock.

ahhh, i see, well my list is in my hotmail. so i esp them my passwords?


ok. got it.

awesome, i’ll be over here watching the cockfight.

hey wait a second, kurt, why is all of this in a whore house?

it’s here because once youre done, with everything, Everything, then you get to hang out here for a few hours and celebrate.

i walked through the swinging doors and there i saw all my favorite pinball machines. there was Fireball and Earthquake, High Speed and Black Knight, Star Wars and Addams Family, a super oldschool KISS machine was being tossed around by a surly fellow who obviously had a lot on his mind. I saw Hercules which was a super huge one, and the Simpsons pinball machine. Theatre of Magic, which i adored. Super old school 8 Ball which brought back some memories, let me tell you.

There was Big Guns and my beloved Fire!, Medievil Madness and who doesn’t love Pin*Bot?

I wanted to get down to business so i stopped looking around and settled in at one of my faves, Cyclone, which has been my bitch ever since we first met.

a lovely cigarrette girl offered me some candies or gum and all i asked for was a quarter. she gave me one and kissed my cheek and walked away with a little wink.

and i thought about all the books. and i told the angels my passwords which were all so easy, and i told them what to write in each of the books, and i told them to read the email messages from all the nice people. and i told them how to pack them and to include love and tender care.

then i paid what few bills i had. then i had them write out my will, which was pretty much, “to chris, i give everything. just like i did that one time.”

then i told them to hide my xbi weapons over in the dumpster behind the church next door. then i told them to kiss ashley on the cheek cuz shes so super sweet.

and then i told them how to update this blog.

and when the third ball sank i felt the warm breath of an asian girl, yes, the one from earlier, and she had a shot of rum in one hand and a six ounce can of coke in the other and her twin sister arrived with three slices of pizza and i followed them upstairs, and they shut the door and locked it.

welch wrote about los feliz in the la times on sunday + shabooty + terra + christie

caught the bus

and drove out to death valley. the ride wasnt bad, it was just me and kurt and a few gangstas from the hood.

when the bus stopped kurt led me out.

before we can go any further you have to sit on the Regret Throne.

all i saw were a row of Port-A-Potties.

go in there, put down some paper on the seat, pull down your pants, and think about all of your regrets.

i did as instructed.

“i cant think of any.” i yelled.

i thought you said you were bummed that you never went to Prague?

“oh yeah.”

plop plop plo-plo-plo- SPLASH

“i think im done.” i told him.

did you ever have sex with anyone you wish you hadnt?

hmmmm. no. no, i dont think so.

think hard. if theres any regret in you, you wont be able to fly in heaven. it’s what seperates us from the birds.

plop plop plop.

what about some of the jobs you had?

sorta liked my jobs, kurt.

wish you had said some things, or not said some things, or quit earlier at some of them?

plop plop plop plo-plo-plo-plo-plo-plo-plo-plo-plo-thrrrrrrrrrrrrbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb plllllllllrbrbrbrbrbrbrbrb SPLASH

ok that was sick, tony

hey man, im just doing as the inventor of grunge is instructing me.

any girls you wish you had asked out?

the toilet exploded.

it was like a missle.

there were flames.

kurt hosed me off and handed me a towel. i tipped him a dollar and he opened the door of another port-a-john.

any records you bought you wish you handt? movies you saw? extended warrantees you bought?

another violent explosion.

my ass was starting to hurt.

kurt took the hose to me again and handed me another towel.

i gave him a $5, he gave me three ones in change.

i went into another port-a-potty and sat down.

sorry you didnt buy Amazon at 7 and sell at 100?

huge explosion. my ears began to ring.

kurt hosed me off, handed me a towel, i gave him the three ones. he gave me a squirt of cologne.

went into the last port-a-potty that remained.

sorry you didnt say good bye to anyone?

nah, not really.

wish you had asked for more money on your blog?


wish you had spell checked or proof read it before you posted?


wish you had kissed more people’s asses so that they would link you?


wish you had gone to journalism school?

plop plop plop.

wish you had learned to play guitar?


wish you had gotten married in your twenties?


look down at your feet.

“what am i looking for?”

are they on the ground?

and what do you know, i was floating about an inch off the floor.


i wiped, flushed, got out, and felt incredible.

me and kurt hung out at the bus stop waiting for the next bus.

“what was one of your regrets when you were here?”

i wish i had been a corporate spokesperson for someone.


yeah, really. i was just shy.

listen missy + seventeen pics of isla vista + unknown column + the state im in

so what do you want to do?

well what are we supposed to do?

well the bus doesnt come for another few hours, what would you like to do on your last day on Earth?

wow, kurt cobain, thats a tough question.

nothing bad can happen to your body, because you’re already dead you cant be judged for anything you do, and anything that you do will be wonderful.

okay i think i know what i’d like to do.

wanna go see your mom for the last time?

nah. i’ll see her later, im sure.

wanna see wrigley field for the last time?

nah, i bet they have one up in heaven.

oh i know, you probably want to go up to Isla Vista, huh?

nope. i want to do heroin with you, kurt, at the Playboy mansion and have a bunch of unprotected sex.

whoa nelly. none of the girls will be able to see you. you’re invisible, they wouldnt notice you even if you jumped up and down and yelled. and they wont be able to feel you either.

ah, im used to all that.

alright then, lets go.

they got good H up in H?

sure, but nobody does it.

why not?

people get high off life up there.

interesting concept. but arent they really getting high off death?

no, it’s eternal life. eternal death is the other place.


no, earth.

everything dies, baby thats a fact.

and maybe everything that dies some day comes back.

put your make up on

fix your hair up pretty

and meet me tonight

in paradise city.

– from the busblog archives friday the thirteenth 2002

verbungle + matt good + bunny mcintosh