Wednesday, October 27, 2004
As the nights grow longer and the winds blow colder, as the dark spirits of self-doubt and despair crowd this lonely room, I find sweet, nipply solace in the fact that my bod is still SMOKIN'!
Posted by jg @ 08:50 PM PST []
Friday, October 22, 2004
Due to a groundswell of populist support among Spain's repressed-homo road-doggin' community, I'm tickled queer to announce a Spanish-language version of Trucker Fags in Denial, which will be available here sometime next month.
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The Big Red Goad CD...after months and months and MONTHS of maddening, speed-freaky, nitpicky printer's delays...has finally been reissued. If you ordered it, expect it in your mailbox within the week.
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I bestow unto you new pieces on suicidegirls and Republican Gash. Look for my byline in current and future editions of VICE and BIZARRE magazines. And my horribly emotive opus on infidelity (I do this thing where I cheat on all my girlfriends) will soon appear under a pseudonym...to save my ass...in a relatively large East Coast publication.
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I'll remove the by-now-annoying Sweet Gene sound sample from the home page as soon as I find another copy of Flash MX.
Posted by jg @ 08:37 AM PST []
Saturday, October 9, 2004
A reeking alcoholic couple live in the apartment next to mine. You can smell their vapors a block away. They whittle away their lives wasted on the Hot Sauce, lost together on the Great Alcoholic Plains where lives are ruined and livers rot.
He looks somewhat like Ernest Hemingway with reddish skin, a snow-white ponytail, and a bellowing, grouchy voice. She partially resembles Hedda Nussbaum and stays mostly quiet.
Every week or so, he starts howling at her, accusing the poor punching bag of all manner of character defects. He doesn't stop for hours. And it puts a serious crimp in my quiet time with Cookie.
I've never heard anything more than yelling, but other tenants swear he wallops her on a regular basis.
I feel compelled to stop him in the hallway and act like a soccer mom lecturing her heavy-metal-listening son: "I don't mind what you do in your room, but please TURN IT DOWN!"
Really, G, beat the bitch up and down the block for all I care. Mop the floors with her head. That's your problem and, obviously, hers. If she wants to stick around while you treat her like a Rock em Sock em Robot, it's not my place to interfere...not unless she asks for help and I'm in a charitable mood.
But when your sick little tango infringes directly on MY peace of mind, that's when I get involved. Do whatever you want in your room, Little Johnny Johnson, so long as I don't have to HEAR it.
I feel that way about most atrocities that humans commit against one another. As long as I'm not harmed, you can rape, cheat, beat, and murder one another 'til your heart's content! Anyone who weeps for crime victims besides themselves or their loved ones is merely a narcissist projecting their own Tragic Self into another's suffering. It's a very selfish act to try and hijack someone else's misery. If one truly cares about the well-being of others, one generally leaves them alone.