his name is Trayvon

is dead

he’s dead.

he was 17.

the guy who shot him is free.

something tells me that last bit wont be true for long.

my mom wrote me yesterday saying it used to be that you could get arrested or killed for driving while black,

now you can get killed for just being black.

but as an objective blogger slash journalist im patiently waiting for all the facts to come in.

maybe the 9-1-1 call was edited or there was other info surrounding it that we dont know.

all we do know is his name is Trayvon, he was 17, and now he’s dead.

do you watch porn

this is extremely uncomfortable

but not for the reason you may think as you are watching it.

in fact its sorta funny, until it gets uncomfortable

and then you just feel bad about the whole enchilada.


but todays a new day.

the way it is

bill murray she was all im back.

i was all get out. she was no In. im in it to win it. im in.

i insisted the answer was out. but she was like listen meet me on gchat in 30 minutes.

so i hopped in the xbi mobile and sped home and on the way she called me

and she sounded so happy. like not even really herself.

like so happy.

and when she hung up she was all i miss you.

and then the phone rang again but it was a wrong number
and then the phone rang again and it was the right number
but the wrong person so i thought do i pick it up and maybe miss this call
and it was so late i thought damn im sleepy
but why would i speed home just to fall asleep
surely for her id stay awake
that was the deal, after all.

and people change their minds all the times.

like on friday you may agree to something with someone
and then on monday it feels a lot like that someone went back on their word
and sometimes that may make you feel stupid or crazy or detached from reality

so i didnt pick up the right number.
instead i drove home as fast as i could.
and waited for her to appear on the little chat screen.

and fell asleep

how to be anorexic

how to be happyhad dinner with a pretty girl who said when she blogs sometimes she’ll write something so real so raw so true that she has to write a new post right afterwards to

push it down a little.

lets hope all of your posts today, america, are ones you feel the urge to

push it down a little.

and double for you canadah

bad day yesterday. coulda been worse i guess. coulda cost money. coulda required stitches. coulda been permanently damaged. coulda involved the authorities. coulda scarred me for life. instead it was just hella annoying. if bukowski taught me one thing its not to whine in your writing. in that one documentary it was sad to see him uptight and kicking at his wife with the camera rolling. those beautiful strong legs he was so proud of were being used as weapons.

xbi used to say dont use gods gifts as weapons but they were a sarcastic lot so you werent always sure if they were pulling your leg or reinforcing some brainwashing or simply laying it out there. plus they werent as religious as youd like em to be. the organization as a whole was mixed, but for the most part they believed in God but wasn’t so sure about the arrangement. i was sure and they didnt like it. how can you be sure one of em would ask.

how can you ever be sure about anything.

does she really love you? are you truly doing the right thing? is your instinct right this time cuz it sure as hell wasnt last time? did you count 6 or 7? were you just lucky last time? and the time before? can you really do this at your age? should you have had that extra beer?

i was all i dont know how im sure.

i was never sure as a skateboarder but that worked out ok.

i was never sure as a teenage street racer but that ended up aight.

and for damn sure i wasnt sure about prom

or going to europe alone

or driving through the hood alone

or walking in hollywood that night.

listening to the trannys say

this is how to be pretty ok