nothing in here is true

  1. Sunday, September 27, 2015

    this was a good weekend 


    ate sushi with a pretty girl who let me hold her hand in the uber

    saw a rap legend pull off performance art with a different pretty girl whos never looked better

    drove up the prettiest coast in the whole wide world on a lazy sunday in a luxury vehicle

    arrived at the worlds greatest college newsroom and people knew my name

    laughed at some of the best jokes in said newsroom delivered by the great todd francis

    ate in n out while driving home at high rates of speed as the sun set

    and the super moon prepared to be eclipsed.

    we will all be eclipsed said the moon

    it’s the perfect time for a costume change

  2. Sunday, September 20, 2015

    this is how they get you 

    babethey look adorable. they are adorable. their little voices. their weird ability to seem reasonable and human-like.

    they know the sunglasses are upside down but they dont care. and you laugh and they laugh and even the wind and the sun and the trees laugh.

    but then you take them to a red lobster on a saturday evening and omg.

    they cry and wander and scream and destroy their food without eating any. and cry and annoy other diners and cry and crawl under the table and stand on their chair like Look At Me!

    and loudly discuss religion AND politics.

    then when you arent watching they defund planned parenthood as if it wouldnt affect countless women,

    many of whom are poor

    and without a lobby in DC.

    but theyre cute


    what is cute? why do we like it? are we foolish enough to think that it’s a reflection of US? why does cute matter? did cute get us to the moon? did cute cure polio? can cute help you sweep the Cardinals in September and help you avoid that super scary one-game wildcard playoff?

    will cute get you into heaven or heal your back or stop a bullet?

    if anything cute just gets us in trouble. it makes us believe in butterflies rainbows and unicorns. it makes us think that happily ever after really is a thing.

    it makes us believe that yes yes yes instead of omg are you out of your mind?

    the bible isnt cute. Jesus wasnt cute. freakin John the Baptist seemed like a looney toon with a hairshirt(!) and michaelangelo sculpted Moses with horns on his head.

    so if The Light isnt cute,

    the opposite of it is

    and we should avoid it.

    and never take it to Red Lobster again

    on a saturday night.

  3. Friday, September 18, 2015

    the lesson of charles bukowski 

    charles bukowski

    friend of the busblog, heather the rabbit havrilesky aka ask polly got a great letter this week and responded to it in the perfect way.

    someone wrote to her and said that shes a freelance writer and shes done ok but some of her friends have done better and she hasnt really gotten over the hump yet and oprah hasnt shined her light on her yet and well “Should I Just Give Up on My Writing?“.

    and heather, writing in new york magazine answered perfect and said YES FOOL! (jk) but the one little minor thing she left out of her otherwise sparkling incredible response was the lesson of charles bukowski.

    bukowskiamericas greatest poet WAS NOT DOING OK when he was 50. he wasnt living in silver lake, he wasnt living with a spouse who supported him emotionally, he wasnt any freelance writer, he was struggling, he was living in east hollywood working for the post office. he hated the post office. he was drunk. he was ugly. he was overweight. he had anger issues. he smoked. he gambled. he got in fights. he won zero fights. he was being rejected over and over and over.

    but he kept writing. sometimes for money. sometimes because he was a horny middle aged man and some sex papers would let him write out his bizarre fantasies for beer money. but he kept writing.

    it wasn’t UNTIL he was 50 that a rich, visionary publisher from santa barbara discovered bukowski and said dude whatever the post office is paying you i’ll pay you just write and i’ll split the royalties with you.

    the lesson of bukowski is keep doing what you love. who cares that your friends are on tv or writing for new york magazine or married or have a house or two houses or three houses. or fourteen wives. or all their hair or the hair of fourteen sheep dogs.

    keep doing what you love.

    or if for some reason youve never gotten around to start doing what you love: start. because. thats why. start! some people never get the chance to start. they fool around with fireworks and their hands get blowed off. or they get involved in a dead end job or a super sexy woman and their lives get destroyed.

    the lesson of bukowski is motor through all of that. we have so many hours in the day. surely there are a few of them where you could stop watching tv or stop reading books or stop sleeping and sleeping and sleeping and you will get off your ass and express yourself, madonna. surely there is an ounce of courage that you can squeeze out into the juice glass of life and share.

    surely you know that your friends are wonderful but they are not you and you have a unique story to tell that is all yours and no one elses and only you can deliver it. and if you dont tell it no one will, which is a lie, actually someone will but, spoiler alert: they will fuck it up royally.

    so you better write it down and quickly.

    the lesson of bukowski is god bless oprah but she’s dunzo and theres no one else whos gonna save your soul except jewel and shes happily married to a rodeo cowboy so you better work rupaul.

    that is what i learned from bukowski and i never would have learned it if he had given up on writing and just did his post office gig and drank and whined that he didnt have hella twitter followers. so you write your damn deal and f the haters in ur head.

  4. Tuesday, September 1, 2015

    life, i have no complaints 

    deerwhile driving to work yesterday in my german commitment to excellence i saw a sight

    i saw a little girl, maybe 4 years old. 5 perhaps?

    with a blind persons cane.

    behind her was her mom or teacher.

    she was learning to walk with the cane next to a school.

    it destroyed me.

    sweetest cutest littlest girl and all the things she wont see ever.

    the ivy of wrigley field, a technicolor sunset

    a perfectly turned double play.

    i said to myself, you have nothing to complain about ever.

    when i passed that scene for some reason i looked back in my rear view mirror.

    and when i did i saw the little girl had tripped over an uneven part in the side walk

    and she fell into the grass.

    her little legs now above her head. cane gone. but right there.

    she reached for it but couldnt find it.

    and i died again.

    got to work. did work. ate lunch. did more work.

    afterwards i drove over to century city to pick up rich people and movie agents.

    got a ping at the most luxurious condo in LA. rihanna lives there when shes in town.

    i picked up three siblings. all very nice. mid 20s. we talked about china where one of them is in grad school.

    drove through some residential streets in beverly hills, hitting it off beautifully.

    sisters in the back seat, couldn’t have been nicer or prettier.

    they eyed me and i eyed them right back.

    brother next to me, jovial.

    until we saw two orange cones in the middle of the street.

    and a teenage boy sitting on his skateboard in the grass

    with his hands sorta covering his eyes

    in grief. but why?

    as we crept closer to the cones we saw why.

    a squooshed black cat.

    squooshed forever.

    his cat.


    but right there.

  5. Sunday, August 23, 2015

    pretty girl direct messaged me the other day 


    she was all, lets meet up.

    i was like, ive heard that before.

    she went, no, i mean it, how about that taco stand by yr house

    i said, are you a computer program?

    she said beep bop beep

    i didnt drive much this week because of my hands. they feel old.

    about every seven years they start freaking out.

    the other day i picked up a stapler and all of this pain shot to my left thumb.

    it felt like it was all of the pain in my hands and arms just moved to the pad of the thumb.

    xbi emailed me and said whoops, we’re experimenting on something

    theyre obsessed with pain

    they said, hopefully we can focus it all in one spot and then slowly shrink it till it’s unnoticeable.

    ben gay didnt work. my wrist bands didnt work. it was too small.

    felt like i had burned my thumb on a hot plate at a sit down mexican restaurant.

    that was the only pain all day that day. and then the next morning.

    this morning i got an email with the subject header of xbisolation

    saying, should be gone in an hour

    and then it was gone in an hour.

    so yeah, i think i’ll have some tacos with that chick.

  6. Thursday, August 20, 2015

    dear tony, what do you do when things look utterly dire? 

    girl falling

    first, start by knowing that when you die you go to Heaven.

    second, start watching sports.

    what we love in sports is the team who comes back from an impossible deficit, with their star or unlikely star on the ropes, partially injured, undersized, outclassed, who no one believes in anymore

    who makes magic happen when it matters.

    and wins by a narrow margin.

    no one loves the blowout. no one cares for a team that starts strong and finishes strong.

    even the angels and saints want drama, despite what you want.

    speaking of… third, read the bible.

    theres all the stories about david and goliath, but that’s a red herring because david was never the Everyman, he was a superstar with no peers from the get go.

    the better stories are the ones like shadrach meshach and abednego who straight up Trusted the Lord and stayed true to who they were when they were led into the fiery furnace.

    always stay true, ponyboy.

    it’s easy to whine, it’s easy to say oh woe is me, it’s easy to say damn it sure feels like forces are lining against me, but fuck that. life could be a million times worse. theres people with missing limbs, theres people who have babies and the babies are all effed up. theres people who have terrible things that have happened to their faces and brains and imagine what it is like for them to try to find a job

    or try to get a girl to go with them to the dance or even a hay ride.

    crappy as things might be for you, odds are you could find someone to go on a hayride with you.

    start there.

    then remember if parts of life weren’t tough we’d never have poetry or shakespeare or hbo or rage against the machine.

    winter IS coming, fyi

    are you just gonna sit there and whimper and look over at your neighbors green grass and envy what you think is going on over there.

    i’ll tell you whats going on over there

    none of your business is going on over there.

    you have your own life to deal with, and it’s a full life, and it’s yours.

    you are bigger than your struggles.

    you have a terrible flu, youre in utah, and you have the ball.

    do you really want to be known as the black dude who lost a basketball game in utah?

    or do you wanna be known as one of the three bad brothers who casually danced into the firey furnace

    and then breakdanced inside it?

    theres a reason you learned how to pop lock

    theres a reason the Good Lord smiles when He hears your name.

    theres a reason when you walk down the street all the little pretties wave their hand.

    it’s because you can pull off the crazy ass shit

    with style

    that no one thought was even possible.

    which makes them believe They can.

    so if you ever feel like giving up on yourself,

    remember you’re giving up on them as well.

  7. Wednesday, August 12, 2015

    everything i want is impossible 

    isla vista

    a beautiful black xbi lady doctor today told me that i should get surgery on my hands and wrists and stop dicking around with the compression sleeves and icy hot and just let trained professionals cut and yank and remove all the bad stuff thats causing me pain.

    all i want is you.

    that and to go back to isla vista when a band could play on your balcony as the sun set and the keg settled in the ice bucket and the ladies of the house said hey

    hey hey


    ho ho.

    i just want to buy a house one day and not have to rob a band first to do it.

    i just wanna write a book one day that will get taught in the same college class where Bukowski is taught but i aint got no stories like his to tell and they dont teach him to the kids no way anyway so why do i even think we’d both get taught when theyre obsessed with all the gold standards of yore who were fine and all but come on pappy.

    pretty girl got in my car yesterday and said home james and i said if only. as if. you wish. turned out she was in the wrong Benz. and i said arent we all bb, arent we all.

    got home and jeanine had done my laundry, hung my drapes and worked out a way the cats could sit in my windowsill and give eskimo kisses to the one eared black stray who lives under the house and this morning i got paranoid that he would give them fleas so i shut the window and they meowed in such a way that woulda broken any normal mans heart but i have no heart any more and i aint been normal since leon bull durham let that ball go through his legs in san dieger which is why i hate san dieger and wont ever name my kid leon bull durham

    thats for damn sure.

    but what do i want? i wanna girlfriend who, if i was in jail with a 5 million dollar bail, would bond me out after she won the powerball even though im probably the lamest heroin dealer in the world. she still believes in me and doesnt want me in jail even though now that shes a millionairess could get any man in the world.

    except for the busblog. bc the busblog only cares about ur heart.

    and when he kisses the right girl with the right heart sees a hippie band jamming on a balcony on DP in IV

    as the sun is setting

    and the old keg is getting pulled out as the new keg is getting lowered

    into the tub of ice, topped with red solo cups, one of which has this name scribbled on it


    but we ignore that bc shes a good kisser.

  8. Monday, August 10, 2015

    i have scissors all over my house 


    why? because after the xbi made it hard for me to remember things i like to write stuff down, cut it out, and tape it to the walls.

    photos, ticket stubs, addresses, memories.

    once a pretty girl took all of it down i was all, hmm, now how am i gonna remember again?

    mariah back in the day with a gunand i didnt.

    i even forgot to put stuff back up so i could remember them.

    i just looked at my blank walls and thought i hadnt done anything ever.

    which was sorta nice.

    blank slate. fresh past. fresher future.

    i have 14 years of memories on this blog but you know how many times a month i go back in time?


    my phone has this thing called Timehop and that takes me back in time every morning but it’s not that great bc its twitter memories or instagrams.

    today though it brought me back to a long time ago with a different pretty girl and i have a pretty good idea when the picture was taken and where and what happened later that night up against a wall

    which made me feel good.

    but i could be entirely wrong.

    which is why in heaven i hope there is a review of our Timehop and the angels will ask, are there any questions?

    and i wanna say, was it really 102 degrees that day


    did she really like me or was she just bored?

    and hopefully the angels will say

    kiss the past away and follow us down this path because theres an unbelievable spread of sushi that we really want you to try

    if you dare.

  9. Wednesday, August 5, 2015

    the thing about my life is i tell zero percent of it here 

    maybe zero point one percent.

    the problem is im very shy deep down. so shy it embarrassing.

    youd think that someone who has written every day for fourteen years would just lay it all out there but how can i?

    im taking a pretty girl out this weekend. who knows where. hopefully bowling.

    i havent been bowling in so long. im a good bowler. i have trophies.

    trophies from when i was a kid. trophies from now. bowling trophies.

    its why the women want me.

    i dont throw a hook. its not a straight one neither. it sorta drifts.

    almost tricks the pins into thinking theres no way

    but then theres a way.

    i have my own ball.

    the neighbors threw out two more and i rescued one.

    so i have two balls. three if you count my first one which i never use.

    today i took the richest woman id ever met to her summer home at the top of the beverly hills hills.

    she told me she was russian and married a man from dubai.

    we talked about tolstoy and jazz.

    her mom laughed at my jokes but otherwise never said a word back there.

  10. Monday, July 27, 2015

    picasso was never called an asshole 

    picassowhen youre young you never worry about your health, your retirement fund, or obama spying on your skype chats

    but when you get older that kink in your back lingers, your hands have to be treated with kid gloves

    and you have to watch out getting out of the couch too quickly or you’ll throw something out.

    it’s no way to live and makes you feel like youre gonna die.

    heres the things i wanna do and know before i publish my last post:

    did i really live. did i really love.

    did all the unique stories that i could tell get told.

    will the good Lord be happy that i walked and talked and rocked around this beautiful crust.

    or was all of this a terrible waste.

    picasso worked and worked and everything in his workshop was beautiful AND looked like picassos.

    there was a time when the things i wrote looked like ee or bukowski or william carlos williams

    and then the motors started humming and not only was it all about the busblog but ppl started imitating



    but was i saying anything? was i telling the good news of the Lord? was i shining a light on LA in a different way than everyone else who has come here and lived?

    before i croak theres a lot more secret stories that i feel uncomfortable telling even on this blog that i want to tell because they were important to me.

    i always thought id start at 50 years old because thats when bukowski did it but sadly working for the xbi has made it so rough on my body i have no idea if i’ll make it to 50.

    so i need to start writing those things down sooner than later or else who else will write them?

    those are the things i worry about on a monday morning when the hot water heater is busted and i look forward to a cold shower on a summer day in 2015.

    glad im alive and fixing to be super aware of errything.