nothing in here is true

  1. Sunday, November 8, 2015

    read at a story telling + rock show + book release party 

    chris and ramie

    it was in historic Frogtown, as Chris and Ramie were so excited about

    frog spot

    specifically at the Frog Spot which is a beautiful non profit space right by the LA River

    will and his wife

    Will Campbell and his lovely wife were there. Marko 77 (far left) was the DJ, he played a bunch of great tunes from The Replacements to Soul Asylum and the Ramones. Johnny Angel (far right) read and played acoustically.

    os and kim

    Monty, fresh from Nashville was in attendance with Os and Kim

    jeff and monty

    It’s always a good night when Jeff Tsar gets to say hi to a guy with a Jeff Tsar tattoo.

    SW Lauden

    We were all there to celebrate and participate in S.W. Lauden’s debut crime novel, Bad Citizen Corporation, and eagerly awaited to hear him read from it. He did not disappoint.

    books were sold

    Lots of people who hadn’t already bought his book off Amazon snagged it last night.

    basart bill and heather the rabbit

    about nine of us read for 5-8 minutes before SW did. i was super nervous to read and the last thing i wanted to do was follow Heather, and thank God i didn’t have to she was fantastic. she talked about inviting readers to make love to her husband Bill, (center). Ken said she got the most laughs.

    me reading Murder

    i read a new poem that i had just finished that afternoon. one called “a tale of two cities… or Murdurrrrrrr”

    chris said i killed. everyone was so complimentary, heather said i should hustle my work to places and just get over my shyness. i saw all, awwww. thanks everyone.


    afterwards bands played including Champion, which we have all missed.

    below is the poem i read.

    it was tough because i had to make it palatable for kids, but i did my best to make that restriction a part of the tale, so in the end i was actually glad that there was a challenge. and trust me, it was challenging.


    a tale of two cities, or Murduhhhhhhhhhhh

    his name was David
    but he looked more like a Jamaal
    or a Shaquille
    or a Montell
    or a La’Twann
    he was dressed like that one dude from the Black Eyed Peas who writes all the terrible songs.
    but he was shorter.
    had an expensive jacket with crazy patches, baggy pants
    shoes that were untied
    a belt that didnt have a clasp
    his eye glasses were tinted even though it was night
    i had been camped out in my Mercedes in front of the W in Westwood
    waiting for one of the many East Coast consultants
    to ping me on the Uber app.
    theres an option on there that you press if you want a Mercedes or a Lexus
    instead of the typical Prius
    the price is nearly tripled
    which is why I was a little surprised when
    Will.i.am Jr
    waltzed over to the passenger side, while never raising his eyes from his iphone.
    he sat next to me, which is also uncommon, he eased the seat back
    allllll the way
    i clicked my app and looked at the destination.
    Crenshaw and Manchester, i said out loud, steering towards Wilshire. i know that spot, i said
    and he finally turned and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
    my man the colonel, g!
    there WAS a KFC there, old school. David admitted. Jack n the Box now, he corrected. and went back to his phone.
    i hit wilshire.
    what kind of music would you like?
    93-5 he said.
    KDAY is my jam, i lied. and we made it to the 405.
    he kept to himself and when the station broke to a commercial i said
    oh theres children present?
    i said excuse me, governor, instead of enduring these adverts, allow me to switch over to satellite radio
    shade 45
    gangsta rap, i believe it’s been dubbed.
    after a few minutes i heard him sing along quietly. i had succeeded.
    there was a bit of traffic on the 405 but we sped along without a care.
    yo, cut the track, he ordered and i muted the radio with my thumb
    he spoke into the phone using all sorts of slang and made up words but even though im very light skinned
    not only do i share his race, but i used to live in the neighborhood where we were headed.
    basically he was asking his friend if he was interested in meeting him at the home of an acquaintance for an important matter
    that conversation segued into kidding about something they had both read on another gentleman’s facebook page
    something involving the law, an incident, tears,
    no. a voicemail that they both found amusing
    and how they both agreed the gentleman in question kissed men.
    “but seriously, my friend,”
    my passenger said into the phone which he held up to his mouth–
    palm up like he had just taken a healthy gulp of mead from a chalice,
    i implore you, join me at Lord Leroy’s castle tonight, i shall be bearing inebriants of the highest quality.
    his friend agreed and “David” ended the call by lovingly exclaiming
    My N-word.
    a’ight uber driver, we gonna hit that Jack, then run across the street to the smoke shop,
    normally i dont like to take several stops when im driving an Uber because i really only get paid when the wheels are turning
    but what was i gonna tell mr I Am Jr? No?
    his conversation concerned me because i hadnt overheard what the matter was that they wanted to meet over
    i concluded the worst
    we arrived in Inglewood and i said that’s where Mr. Jims used to be
    It takes no teef to eat Mr. Jim’s beef 
    i offered my hand, which he slapped in approval
    “Old School” he said, and it fit.
    we drove down one of those streets near the Forum
    we turned in the drive way.
    i’ll be right out. chill.
    he left behind his glasses on the seat, next to a paper bag
    OF CASH?
    and the latest novel by S. W. Lauden.
    soon he returned and he showed me a large bag of illegal, but natural, vegetation.
    also inside the bag were three hand rolled
    to be honest, i dont know, what it was, it was dark.
    wanna get hiiiiiiiiiigh uber?
    that’s very generous of you, david, but i’m driving.
    oh come on old school lemme get turnt with my uber dude
    i stopped at a stop sign and turned down the music a little.
    listen my genetic relation
    if the po po see two handsome n-words in a benzo
    high af
    blasting biggie
    there will be no judge. no jury
    they will escort us out of this beautiful ride
    and take it for their own.
    if we’re lucky they’ll only beat us a little bit.
    stay in school
    just say no.
    we headed to the head shop after a wink
    David ran in then out with a bag of this and that,
    it was none of my business.
    we went to another apartment and i waited. and then another.
    i was beginning to become suspicious as to this most unusual ride because every time he would get on the phone or text someone he would ask them to join him in some dalliance and they would decline.
    so whose homes were we stopping by all around South Central?
    finally he said ok, we’re going over to my man Xavier’s house.
    as we approached the address he got on the phone and said
    n-word we here! where you?? im in this fly 250, like what Ray Ray had. n-word’s got his blinkers on
    throw on your blinkers, old school
    the gentleman located us and got in the back, where David joined him.
    they talked about this person and that one, and then Xavier asked about Yolanda.
    bruh Yo Yo has me broken hearted.
    for real, asked Xavier?
    David just shook his head and raised his voice, Old School, you ever fall in love?
    only every other day, i said.
    the gentlemen laughed, slapped hands
    when they laughed they laughed like this
    David followed up with, ever get your heart broken Uber?
    routinely, i said.
    Preach! David challenged.
    i said her name was Anna. i was so in love with her.
    she said if you love me so much why wont you show it in the most disturbing ways?
    MURDAHHH the gentlemen asked?
    no, she wanted me to kiss her in the
    THE MOUTH they said?!!?
    I KNOW!!!!
    Disgusting, X said. Everything goes in the mouth. Food, Drinks. Fingers. And whats on Fingers?
    Newsprint! the boys said
    and i said Exactly!
    totally gross. and she told me all of her other suiters would kiss her there.
    And i said, if the mouth is such a great place to kiss then why did the Good Lord give us two cheeks in which to target?
    and the men rolled around on their backs in the back seat laughing and laughing and omg
    i kept driving and after the laughter ended Xavier coughed a little and said,
    id kiss any white girl, black girl, mexican asian right in the mouth, but thats me
    fo real? David asked.
    100, Xavier confirmed. You telling me you aint never kissed a female in the mouth?
    David smiled sheepishly and said I mean sometimes a brothers gotta do what he gotta do
    Ours is a heavy burden, my n-words
    and we rolled down a back road that cut towards the remains of hollywood park.
    oh, this is where theyre going to kill me, i thought, kill me and steal my car.
    i thought about the girls who wanted me to kiss her there and how much i loved them, still,
    and how if theyd asked nicely, i Would have probs
    gross as that is.
    and i overheard some noise in the backseat.
    well here it is one said to the other.
    A GUN?
    A KNIFE?
    no it was the hand rolled thingamabobs.
    Xavier was looking at it as David was explaining,
    bruh, my heart broke, we gonna sit in my crib and imma have to cry on your shoulder a little bit
    you a real friend. i aint never forget you was here for me.
    now uber turn leff right here.
    we drove towards a typical apartment, one like youve seen a million times.
    you sure you dont wanna partake in this completely illegal activity with us strangers and park your luxury vehicle on this dark street in inglewood always up to no good?
    well, maybe for a minute, i said.
    and David said really?
    i said, next time super fly
    they laughed and as they left, X said, look out for that spot over there,
    full of Crips
    i took note and drove off into the darkness
    and was promptly murdered.
  2. Friday, October 30, 2015

    the other week i agreed be part of a story + poetry reading + rock show 

    poetry reading

    no one wants to be the guy reading the poem at such an affair.

    especially me.

    but it’s being organized by my favorite drummer in rock, Steve Tsar.

    also it’s nice to have your comfort zones stretched.

    i dont like reading my poems. like my niece, i dont like being the centre of attention.

    i like sitting in my helicopter at about 5,000 feet and blogging once or twice a day and veering off into the night and fighting crime anonymously.

    then i like to eat soul food with a pretty girl and lick the bbq sauce off her finger tips.

    i dont think im a very good writer. i dont know how i got in the college of creative studies. i dont know how i got in the nexus.

    i dont know why LAist hired me and i for damn sure dont know how the LA Times hired me and let me write on their political blog.

    and for surely sure i know i cant write a poem to save my life.

    i do know though that poems make girls take off their pants – even the bad ones, which is why i will write a brand new epic poem for this fiesta.

    i know exactly what it will be about, it will be about this conversation i had with a gang member drug dealer i met in south central the other day

    and how we talked about having girlfriends who wanted us to lick their asses.

    because i think poems and poetry readings are painfully boring, i think i will name this poem

    tony please wont you eat my ass.

    because if i was at a story / poetry reading / rock show and some weirdo got on stage with a cubs hat

    and said this one is called tony please wont you eat my ass, i might actually pay some attention

    even though i dont like attention, even though i cant write and even though i will be betraying the trust of someone who was once dear to me

    who asked me to do her that favor since she obvs couldnt do it herself.

    now the easy part: writing the epic poem. which i will do as close to the event as possible in order to freak myself out. thanks.

  3. Wednesday, April 1, 2015

    Sylvia Plath 1932-1963 

    sylvia plath

    “I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”

  4. Sunday, February 17, 2013
  5. Friday, October 26, 2012

    best poem i ever wrote about jeanine? prob this one 

    “oj and courtney and everyone but you”

    i writer everyday
    and ask her to come back
    but i do not send em
    i think about younger girls
    or bigger girls or wilder
    girls arent what im lookin for now
    but you know that
    and its not super, man, thinking about all of whatever happened
    that added up to this
    which is me alone at 2am
    suckin on a pen
    thinking of how i write and write and nothings

    you drive through the desert
    and you see two things
    oilrigs pumping and windmills spinning
    motion and no movement
    spirit, no action.
    whirling and whirling
    typing and hoping and praying
    and thinking
    im gonna die without her
    thinking im so stupid to even be thinking

    everyone gets over theirs
    i got over mines
    whats so damn perfect about this little flatchest grrl
    with her perfect hair and lips
    we’d kiss and cry and lie all night
    slept in so many rooms
    all over california mexico and foreign lands like
    gretna and maui
    whats the good lord got saved for me
    do bums in the street with heaps of dirty clothes used as sheets
    snoozing away in a doorway think about what the lords gonna bring em
    and who am i to ask when theyve got real dreams
    i just want my little girl.
    clouds pass by overhead silent in the nightsky
    theyre going to where clouds die
    and theyve seen her why dont they tell me hows it really.
    the rain, it rains, and it pours on a little pink girls bike
    half falling down no kickstand
    im damned why wont he say it
    in a holding cell not hell but close someone in the cloud has a rope
    but theyre scared id use it the cheater way and youd see dangling converses
    in the morning with milk but i got better plans dear fans
    i just want my little girl.
    and they bowl as the rain pours tears from sobbing saints twentyfour hours it flashes
    semis blow past spray mud on the corn and i wish sometimes i wasnt born
    you dont need me what role am i bukowski kicks the crap outta this guy
    dont sex good anymore and i cant hit a curve
    i teach fools how to sell im the king of the nerds
    so whys he got me breathing still aint i paid all my bills
    maybe thats it.
    i still want my little girl.

  6. Monday, April 11, 2011

    super cool gaucho girl just sent me this poem 

    mysterious lake in downtown LA that no one likes

    “Each Moment a White Bull Steps Shining into the World”

    If the gods bring to you
    a strange and frightening creature,
    accept the gift
    as if it were one you had chosen.

    Say the accustomed prayers,
    oil the hooves well,
    caress the small ears with praise.

    Have the new halter of woven silver
    embedded with jewels.
    Spare no expense, pay what is asked,
    when a gift arrives from the sea.

    Treat it as you yourself
    would be treated,
    brought speechless and naked
    into the court of a king.

    And when the request finally comes,
    do not hesitate even an instant–

    Stroke the white throat,
    the heavy, trembling dewlaps
    you’d come to believe were yours,
    and plunge.

    Not once
    did you enter the pasture
    without pause,
    without yourself trembling,
    That you came to love it, that was the gift.

    Let the envious gods take back what they can.

    — Jane Hirshfield

  7. Tuesday, June 17, 2008

    since nothing in heres true, lets rock 

    her name was rosa linda
    she lived in a shoe
    said i love you baby
    she said i love me too

    started hating dreams in high school cuz they were intense and terrifying
    dreams where the cubs always lost or i was alone or i couldnt scream
    then they got worse. then thunder crashed and people whispered things
    there were shadows but they werent.
    there were light blasts
    there were moans.
    there were dreams where an undercover federal agency of spies
    tapped into the thoughts at night of a private boys school
    made it so we couldnt feel any pain on the football field
    made it so we couldnt forget anything we read anything we heard
    made it so we could esp each other and esp right back.
    made it so our dreams disappeared.
    which we loved them for, and would do anything for them
    especially if it meant fighting evil.
    cuz fuckit compared to those dreams
    fighting was like licking ice cream.

    hated dreams even more in college cuz it made us doubt if the xbi was still in us
    cuz when they were, there were no dreams.
    and we were invincible. undefeatable.
    fearless, and super respectful.
    sorta like rosa linda, who lived in a shoe
    said i want you baby. said, i want you too.

    would dance for you in the back room of deja vu
    tight spaces back there, dark places back there
    and two for one dances on wednesdays for you.
    she said whats in here,

    nothing in there
    but you.

  8. Monday, December 17, 2007

    i had the greatest first day at work today. 

    but first an old poem.

    “the best virgin marys”

    The Italians painted the best
    virgin marys
    next to the Dutch
    and she looks like the dark haired
    olive tint
    not the complete Mary but her complement
    her knitting friend who Mary
    whispers to
    “Joseph last night was so cute”
    Mary tells her as the donkey drinks from the river
    “he leaned over to kiss me
    but he stopped himself
    I told him we’ve been married ten
    our son is the messiah
    you have nothing to fear silly man.”
    I teller she looks like Mary’s best friend and she
    smiles trying to sleep with her hands in praying formation
    under her head
    gold inexpensive earrings still on
    eyes closed teeth shimmering
    as christmas lights sparkle in my bedroom.
    are you marys friend i ask
    did you come down here to keep an eye on
    me and warm not just my heart but
    it feels like this whole house is alive
    my fruit punch soda tastes bubblier
    my burrito tastes guacamolier
    my old face seems happier
    did you come down here to do all
    that for me
    shes sleep
    I whisper is mary your best friend and you seller
    and she sells you avon but you dont
    wear it cuz you just dont
    but you love each other
    and now you love me
    yes yes she says now hush she smiles opening one eye

  9. Tuesday, January 31, 2006

    nolan ryan 

    19 years ago
    nolan ryan had this guy twenty-six
    running straight at him
    nolan’s forty-six
    the guy was mad cuz
    hit em with the ball
    and when the guy got at
    nolan nolan put him in a headlock
    and said
    now im gonna hit you with my
    then nolan got the next 13
    of 14
    batters out.
    i really miss you jeanine
    satan and the lord put job thru a lot
    satan said if job had everything
    taken from him he wouldnt love
    you God why should he
    God said fifty bucks says he won’t crack
    God and satan make bets on me how
    i’ll start writing
    sad poems again
    n just get sadder
    but nolan proved sometimes
    you cant lose.
    for even
    hates poems about baseball.

  10. Monday, September 19, 2005


    with a scream brave ulysees removed the pitchfork
    from the throat of the son of a bitch from detroit

    “eye dont understand why they still fuck with me
    aint my name known and feared through these seven blue seas?”
    The boat it did rock and the four winds were blowin
    as in came a mighty big terrible storm.
    the man from detroit from the deck he was thrown
    and the spray and the rain on ulysees came down.
    “Seaman Smith come up here, Dr. Know, up you too
    i’ve got miserable news to unload upon you.
    seems your wives they have written, untrue they have been,
    paid that man there to row his boat here from Japan.
    They’ve sold all of your cars
    and theyve killed all your cows,
    actioned off all your boys
    then they burned down your house.
    They’ve told all your secrets to all of your parents,
    the pope, he found out, and annulled both your marriages.
    How sad you must be, good men you are too,
    but fight we must now, as therrrrres work we must do.
    To the port we have pirates, on Acid theyre on,
    starboard, fine women, the best to be found.
    But we have only one cannon, and only one ball,
    and, lo, in bad waters, tis certain death to us all.
    but wait till you hear the worst news of the bunch:
    in our cargo is condoms, and the girls just made lunch.
    “I’m with you Brave captain,” Dr. Know he did pledge,
    “I spit on the pirates and that son of the bitch.”
    “And I,” declared Smith, and erect did he stand,
    “A child I was born, but I must die a man.”
    The pirates struck first, but the ball it did miss
    but two more blasts came forth and they scored the first hits.
    Ulysees, he tacked ‘gainst the old pirate ship
    “Prepare ye to fight, boys. Prepare ye to live!
    Though it means nothing to no one:
    ask Doc and ask Smith,
    we ride this ship once, and our lives they are quick,
    as we ram these dull bastards, decide we of which:
    Shall we howl our arrival or die sons of the bitch?”

    The crew, beat and worn-out, were true men of the sea
    as little as schoolboys they knew who theyd be,
    from Hell and seawater they bounced in the waves
    shrieking filth and poor tidings and pretty bad names.
    And though their ship was a-sinking and doomed that it was
    the men they stood proud as the rockets did buzz.
    “If I thought we would die here, I’d shake your hands now,
    but there’s women behind us, and that smells like good chow.
    Fight on ye, me bastards, dont let one go unslayin
    and stab every dead man, for they just may be playin.
    Good luck to you all, to the rest happy sailing,”
    were the last words brave Ulysees was ever heard sayin.

    from the upcoming book Stiff +  nsfw version