GETTING TIRED OF MY MESSY ROOM.

JUST WHEN YOU THOUGHT NOBODY CARED

It doesn't have to be stated twice. William Saroyan is my favorite writer. Ahh, that took a lot of heart. Saying your favorite shit is discouraging because you want to keep it all tucked under the covers, you don't want anybody else knowing it. It's a much safer bet telling people you like Hemingway because everybody loves Hemingway. But to me, Hemingway blows, so I can't take the lies anymore. The last time I tried to read a Hemingway book my roomate came in, asked me why I was reading garbage, grabbed the book out of my hands and threw it into the dusty corner and told me to leave him there for eternity. Two days later I went to pick it up and he screamed at me, "NO, leave it." I told my roomate that Hemingway woud be rolling in his grave over what we were doing with his words. "He's had enough fucking adulation for a life time, fuckim."
It's a safe bet, it's like loving The Chameleons and telling someone you've been listening to The Beatles a lot because you don't want them to go out and get the record and know it's so great. Except the Beatles don't blow, and sir Hemingway sincerely does. So there it is. It's all on the table. Saroyan is the best and I found this little gem digging like I always do when I manage to shed others. I'd be surprised if there is another copy of this in the universe. It's the first part/first issue of Little Man press, released out of a basement in Cincinnati in 1939, edited by the infamous Robert J. Lowry and art directed by the one and only headcase James Flora. Ya dig?

TELL TOO MANY LIES.

Every time I have ever been to the Mars Bar in my life she has been there and she has told me to FUCK OFF. This girls got real spunk!

I couldn't have imagined a photo I'd rather take. Though the actual photo kinda blows, she's sitting on a pillow with flowers surrounding her, one in her hair, drinking a can, and sitting on the pillow. But you can see all that for yourself.

I know exactly what you mean.

Without even telling you, it should've been easy to figure out this guy does the lighting at big time concerts for the Gramercy.

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This looks like a torture cell, I heard some strange noises coming from inside when I stuck my ear up to the shabby corrugated fence tetris job.

FUCK FEBRUARY.

You know I don't care right now. It's real feel negative ten degrees. I just bought fifty dollars worth of grocery's at nine am on a Monday morning. Time to hybernate. Feeling repulsed by this photograph? I am too. See you later.

GIANTS PARADE

This parade downtown by City Hall was absolute mayhem. People started climbing everything like monkey's.

FAT TUESDAY!

I snapped this photo this morning. I love this kids enthusiasm. Not only is it a day of voting and the Giants parade, it's also Fat Tuesday! The cops tried to give him a ticket for "Recession Rights" But his mom screamed, "Not so fast buster!" And this kid was like, water, hah, and he laughs at water and pours it for the catch basins. Ten minutes later I saw him drinking a chocolate cake, hoisted him on top of my shoulders and ran down the streets for all the crowds to see, the little chubster who stomped all fat competetion, a bigger champion than Manning.