good shit or bad. you can try. i guess thats what writers do. they try to explain shit. but it doesnt stop the shit from happening.
you can be a trained salesman. you can be a trained cop. you can be a trained fireman but tick tock it dont stop. people are gonna still say sorry just looking, or people are still gonna rob shit, and shits still gonna catch fire.
the biggest mistake a writer can make is thinking that he can write something that will help people not make the same mistakes that he made. map makers have the same problem. they can show you the road that leads to the bottomless pit and you can mark it bottomless pit but all that ever does is make people want to go to the bottomless pit and now they know the directions.
her name was anna. she lived by the sea. she claimed to read no one but me.
i ate really good last night. i ate italian made from actual italians in a place thats been around since 1818. almost as old as me. it was a place where sailors would come after theyve been at sea on wooden boats. after they drank at the bars and paid for love and cleaned up a little. i pissed in the tiny but really clean bathroom and i wondered how many people barfed pissed and kissed in that john. i wondered how many hands touched that door handle. i wondered how many stories they had to tell.
i took my left overs and gave them to a man passed out in the subway station. he had two shopping bags with him and a wool cap over his eyes. shrimp mariana i told him but he didnt wake up. warm buns and spaghetti i whispered but he snoozed and dreamed of the grand canyon i bet.
amy had eaten with me and she asked me what the nxt big tony pierce thing was. i said i just got a job and i love it. she said yes but its just a blog. i was all baby here we are on an island that the indians thought was just worth some beads. she said good point so what after the blog. i said first i want that blog to be the biggest and best in LA. i want it to make the LA Times jealous. i want it to influence everyone around us. i want it to be the thing that helps writers go on to bigger and better. she said good good but what about for tony.
it was so hard to believe that one of my smartest friends couldnt see that tony was being totally taken care of by that blog. there i was on the road working. there i was eating shrimp and drinking booze and laughing with 100 year old waitresses. for the exception of the ladies who had been jackhammering my heart, this was a trip dreams are made of.
i have no aspirations other than tell the continuing story of LA. while kissing girls out of my league. while striking out across this great land. while sleeping late and wearing dumb clothes and getting closer to the end, which is in itself just the begining of that bottomless pit.