kurt cobain's suicide letter as edited by kathleen hanna

That's the title of my latest piece for RETARD PENIS, coming soon for the pathologically curious and terminally bored. Flash fiction, prose poetry, essays that would never make the cut and be published in Guernica or Sassy (RIP). It's a bloody DISASTER. Haters encouraged to purchase a copy at (where else) lulu dot fucking com. The world is hopping straight to hell like a delirious bunny and language is dead as dead as your daddy's dick. People will have no choice but to get over their petty prejudices and panties in a wad grievances. I pasted these words in a collage I made a billion years ago when I was a sexually frustrated virgin living small in rural Texas:

What's Your Problem Gripe or Guilt Trip?

There was probably a comma in there. I fucking loathe commas. 

There's such purity to obscurity. I embrace it like Dana Plato embraced Gary Coleman but only on set. Daddy was Mr. Drummond.
 

WORKING THE SAW

working the saw
working the daw
working the maw
working the claw
working the jaw
working the caw
working the blah

 

OBSESSED WITH OBSCURITY

The YouTube crowd seems obsessed with obscurity lately. Obscure audio is trending. These tracks are as obscure as 30 minutes ago. Obscurity is just another day at the office for me.
 

$134.92

I just created this collage. It's available on various products at Redbubble. Buy the canvas print and hang it above your sofa. Your friends will be impressed.
 

STRINGS

David is cracking that colonizer whip insisting that I take a break from making noiSe and shuffling tarot cards. WRITE, BITCH. WRITE!!! I am acquiescing. I am submitting. I have written two stories for our latest collaboration in progress, RETARD PENIS. Stay posted. Bye.

 

DATA CENTER SMOKE BREAK

The bugs are biting the sun is setting the dogs are barking the music is playing in Belize. Earlier there were tacos and I was ranting because I thought I had lost a track I was madly in love with. I just heard a gunshot. I'm safe here in bed with my Aries rapist. Inside joke. I no longer eat cereal but if I did my cereal of choice sure as fucking hell would not be FANS CORNFLAKES. Capital letters are still somehow important. Have you driven a FORD lately? Confident. Confident. Dry and secure. Raise your hand. Raise your hand if you're SURE. I have this memory of lying awake in my canopy bed in Goree, Texas in 1975 or 1976. The television in the den had been turned off for hours but I kept hearing the A&W Root Beer commercial over and over again. I thought I was losing my mind. I probably was. All these years later I remain obsessed with audio. Here is my latest track available for $1.50. Bye.

 

PASS THE POTATO SALAD

pledge allegiance

put chiles in processor 

pick a number