Wednesday, March 26, 2003

I love riding the trains in Philadelphia. I love how fast the Market Frankford can take me from 45th Street to Spring Garden to drop off my bass for repairs. The blue decor is soothing, and though loud, the whoosh of the wheels on the rails is smoother than you'd expect. The same is true for the trolleys. I live near the number 13, which goes up and down Chester Avenue, straddling the line between the treelined streets of University City on the north and the hard-edged meaner streets of Southwest Philly to the south. I even like the Broad Street subway, even if it is old and dirty. As the Philadelphia Weekly pointed out in their March 26th issue "The List: 103 Things We Love About Philly," the old and dirty are part of what gives the city I've called home for the past 4 years (and now that I'm a homeowner, for the discernible future) it's special charm and flavor.
Yes, I love the trains in Philadelphia from the trolley to the El to the regional lines.
But if there is one thing I hate, it is SEPTA.

One of the wonderful things about this city is the infrastructure surrounding its subway and trolley system, and the most maddening thing about it is the way said system is wholly mismanaged by the agency that runs it.
{history of Philly RR, includign when it got bad}
{septa, fair hike/ service}
{inability to get tokens by machine or from booth (verify); no change given}
{ways to improve serivice; even little moves, low cost moves}
as you can see, this article has yet to be finished. that's because SEPTA may soon be cuttin glines and jacking prices. I do love the trains in Philly, but they're in greater danger than ever before. More on this as I finish the article, which will take some time.
Here we go: one of the most brutal and disturbing flash animations regarding the war. Don't watch this unless you can deal with really graphic images.

Sunday, March 23, 2003

3:00 AM, 3/24/03

BBC radio is on the air, debka is open in another window. Make sure you always read buzzflash.

March 22: I stepped out of the 14th Street stop at Union Square and into the anti-war march sponsored by United for Peace and Justice, heading south from 42nd Street. "No war for oil! No war for oil! No war for oil!" I was half-hungover, tired, I had to pee, and I swept up in procession that filled Broadway. "No war for oil! No war for oil!" We were 6 blocks from the rally point at Washington Square. It was just the beginning of a long afternoon.

As we rounded the corner onto Washington Square, a police van with loudspeakers mounted on its roof delivered a recorded message. "You have reached the end of the march. The march is now over. Please leave the area in an orderly fashion, so that your fellow marchers may end their march as well." The procession however had achieved critical mass. The organizers shouted that we had reached 1,000,000 people that day, referring to the march from its root at 42nd Street. I had missed that, but what we had here had at the very least taken over the entire square, in the park, on the sidewalk and packing the street. People continued to pile into the block, and we were stopped on MacDougall Street by a garrison of police officers standing at the corner of Washington Place. The people tried to push through, but the cops held the line. I was standing behind the low iron fence that surrounds the outer perimeter of the park, moving from the grass to the crowd in the street, taking as many photos as I could. People were tense, energized, and confrontational. Many prepared for civil disobedience, and the mood was getting tense. They were chanting, screaming. "This is what democracy looks like, this is what democracy looks like!" "Let us through! Let us through! Let us...""NYPD We know you, We remember Amadou..." and at the first thrust by the police "SHAME!" SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!"

The police began an aggressive push north up Macdougal, forming clusters in the street like soldiers in Viet Nam movies, forcing protestors onto the sidewalks. Suddenly, there was a push from the cops on the curbs into the crowd lining the park. I dived over the fence face-first to avoid getting grabbed. I was able to get some good shots then-- the view of the police forcing their way through the crowd was perfect.

Then, "Let 'im through, let him through!" and a kid shrieking and holding his eyes fell through the crowd as his friends began pouring water in his eyes. Was it pepper spray? Mace? And who sprayed it? I had spotted him in the crowd earlier, and now there was some kind of film all over his cheeks, and his eyes were tearing up. Two or three people flushed his eyes from their water bottles, as another held his eyes open. About 10 of us were crowding in snapping photos. Suddenly he stood up and smiled broadly. "Dude, are you ok?" I asked him, and he said, "Yup, holy shit!" and then he ran off into the crowd whooping.

I took photographs of a kid no older than 16thrown to the ground by plainclothesmen, and hauled off, and another half dozen arrested for civil disobedience. Another protestor doused with pepper spray or mace. People were getting angry, and I began to seriously worry that there might be a riot. "41 SHOTS 41 SHOTS 41 SHOTS 41 SHOTS KNOW YOU WE REMEMBER AMADOU NYPD WE KNOW YOU WE REMEMBER AMODOU NYPD" and then ominously, "FUCK THE PIGS FUCK THE PIGS FUCK THE PIGS FUCK THE 41 SHOTS 41..." A water bottle flew into the crowd of police and protestors confronting on the street, and then another, followed a sign.

The police again surged up Macdougall, and the protestors were pushed back as someone committed another act of civil disobedience. Cameras flashed as men and women of all ages were led away by the police. "SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME."

I continued on my path, winding in and out of the street, the sidewalk and the park. The noise was overwhelming, like thunder reverberating off the stone faces of the browstones. and it as hard to express this intensity in writing as it was to take it all in. The police were slowly but surely taking over the street, this was clear, forcing everyone onto the sidewalk and into the park, but for the moment we had them outnumbered and surrounded them on all sides. "Attention Police!" someone deadpanned into a bullhorn. "You are surrounded... with love. Lay down your weapons and you prepare to be hugged!" Not for long. From the south and the west more and more cops piled up MacDougall.

I moved over to the north side of the park, where the action was getting heavy. The police made another push into the crowd ahead of them, and there were more civil disobedience arrests. At the northwest corner of the park, three protestors were watching the action from high in a tree. "What do you see?" I called up. "They're bringing in mounted police from the south, I can see 'em coming!" In front of the advancing police was someone claiming to be a parade organizer with a bullhorn. "We have had a great march! One million of you have come! We have showed them what we are made of, but now it is time to leave! Please go before we are arrested." Someone ran out from the crowd and confronted him. "Who the hell do you think you are? Stop telling people to leave, these people want to be arrested and want to make their point! Stop discouraging them!" I began to wonder if the guy with the bullhorn was a police plant. The cops were advancing quickly now, so I hopped over the fence, and back onto the sidewalk, where I was face to face with a line of police in riot gear. Some looked really angry, scary burly caveman types, while others took a more easygoing approach, talking with the protestors during what could hardly be called lulls. One, Officer Coppola was gamely getting berated by a protestor. "Oh right, right," he said in deep Brooklynese. "So you think I'm ugly. Hey guess, what? I know I'm ugly. Tell me something I didn't know." He was taking the abuse with good humor. "Hey, this rally was supposed to be over an hour ago. All I want to do is go home and watch the game." "You know, this is taking away necessary resources. What if an old lady has a heart attack or something? You people oughta think about that. I mean, it doesn't matter if I have a heart attack, I know all you will give me CPR, right?" "Sure, officer, we'll help you. We'll drag you over to the hospital around the corner." "See?" said Copolla, with a sardonic grin, "we can be friends. Hoorah!"
I found myself, in a moment of relative calm, face to face with Officer MacDougall, who looked like comedian Ben Stein if Ben Stein was a 6' 5" cop armed to the teeth in full riot gear. "I know you have a job to do, officer," I said. "And I know this protest is a pain in your ass, and that things are extreme right now. But I want you to remember one thing. In 2004, when the vote comes again, I want you to remember who's cutting your budget. I read the New York Times, and you and I both know that Mr. Bush has made no provision for you 'first responders'. If, God forbid, there is another terrorist attack in NY, you and your colleagues in the fire department will be the ones rushing in to save lives, and Bush has provided you with none of the resources you need. The mayor is in Washington pleading for money, and nothing's coming. So remember: we protestors may be a pain in the ass, but the administration is stabbing you in the back just as badly as he's stabbing us. We have different jobs to do, but we are all in the same boat here at the end of the day. Just remember that in 2004 when you vote."

I continued east up the street, where I came to the intersection of Washington Square North and 5th Avenue, where the marchers were still standing off to the civil affairs officers. A huge crowd had gathered around them, and behind the line of police and the line of marchers, many people had sat down in the middle of the street. "A little old lady is holding off the cops, you gotta see this!" I pushed my way into crowd, and there she was, a tiny little woman with white hair that matched her sweatshirt and thick glasses, shaking her finger angrily at the police. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but it was clear that the police were getting a good scolding. "Think she'll get arrested?" someone asked. "Naah, I think the cops know that dragging that old lady off would make some people really angry." This comment set off a volley of "leave that old lady alone! leave that old lady alone!" The loudspeaker van pulled up behind the police. "The march is over. Leave now or you will be arrested. You may gather in the park if you like. The march is over..." From the east, another group of police on horseback were making their way up the street. A cop with a bullhorn repeated the demand: disperse or face arrest. Behind me, a group of hippies were dancing and singing, playing drums, buckets, and anything else they could get their hands on, chanting peace slogans. A cop began to push us backwards into the crowd, "You have to get off the streets, and get off NOW, but we were packed together and no one could move. "Officer," I said, "I'd like to move, but there's a disco dance going on behind me, there's only so much I can do." The cop looked up at the writhing hippies and chuckled. "Yeah, alright alright. But you guys have to start clearing the street. Come on now!" That's when I noticed that all egress paths were blocked by a wall of blue. Someone said "They did this in Seattle, they corralled everyone and told the protestors to leave, but packed them so tight that no one could escape and everyone was arrested." I took advantage of my small size again, and wormed my way through the crowd so I would be far enough from the police to avoid arrest, but not so far as to miss any photo opportunities. The old woman scolding the police was finally allowed to leave, escorted by the press and legal observers. The crowd of people sitting in the street began to grow. The police began closing in further. The recording on the speaker truck changed. "The rally is over. Leave now or you WILL be arrested." I skirted the contingent sitting in the street to the north side, where I met more police, but also a potential escape route.
I watched from the sidelines as the paddy wagon pulled in. A line of police followed, wielding zip-strips and batons. the arrests were going to begin any minute. Behind me, police. In front of me, police. At all sides, police, and Washington Square filled with angry demonstrators.
It was then truly over. As the two groups of police finally met we were herded out of the Square, choking the streets in our wake. We turned right at the first intersection, where police on mopeds blocked all but one sidewalk. Someone began singing "Send In the Clowns" as the cops buzzed up the street, and bit by bit, the crowd disappeared into the night. We had held up the city for 3 hours longer than they'd expected.
I wrote this article because I believe that in general the news has not given the protests the attention they deserve. While you often get the insider's view of what it's like to be inside the Bush administration or with the troops, the news tends to present the protestors as outsiders.

Friday, March 21, 2003

Yesterday was a LONG day.

I guess it started Wednesday night, when I got drunk to celebrate the war. Got home at about 1:00 AM and called into work. "I can't make it in today," I slurred into my boss's email, "and I'm not gonna bullshit you on the reason. I have two protests to go to, I have to show up for Council meeting at City Hall...I'm not gonna be in today, I'm sorry."
Woke up Thursday morning. I wasn't going to have time to make the rally outside the Federal Building at 6th and Market (that started at 7:00 AM), but instead went straight to City Hall to the Council Meeting.
After waiting in line and going through a metal detector, I got into the packed council chamber, where there was a large number of anti-war people of all ages shapes and forms. At the end of the room, facing council, 4 young people held a banner saying "Defend the
Constitution. Protect Our Rights." After some resolutions and bills dealing with wage taxes, road repairs, etc, Councilman David Cohen (88 years old and a ww2 veteran) presented his resolution putting Philadelphia against media consolidation. He spoke about how it was more important now than ever to have a diversity of voices, and that the Bush belief (I use that term loosely, the man has no beliefs) that "Bigger is Better" has been proven wrong, and brought up the poor quality of the newspapers here since Knight Ridder bought up both the Philadelphia Inquirer and the Daily News. He then spoke in support of the troops,of his own experiences in WW2, and in support of the protestors (by this time the aforementioned federal building at 6th and Market was blockaded by protestors and effectivly shut down. Around 70 people were arrested for civil disobedience by federal police. I was not there, but heard that they were dragged into the federal building in chokeholds. Some I have heard were punched in the face).
Councilman O'Neill objected to the resolution, saying "Philadelphia shouldn't be telling Congress what to do." He was countered by Councilman Ortiz, who said that that was EXACTLY what we should be doing: as our representatives, they need to hear from citizens and city councils. Ortiz and Cohen's comments were supported by Councilwoman Jeannie Blackwell.

After Cohen's resolution was passed (13-3), Councilman Ortiz postponed his resolution banning the PATRIOT act in Philadelphia. "Under the current circumstances, I am postponing the resolution until a later date. I will be reintroducing it." At this point, he left council chambers and we followed out, chanting "Defend Our Freedoms. Protect Our Rights." I would say the room emptied by more than 80%, (about 50-60 people) at this point. Council President Anna Verna was whacking her gavel and saying "this behavior will not be tolerated," but the chants drowned her out. Richie O'Neill scowled at us. I thanked Councilman Cohen for his words as I passed by him.
We met with Councilman Ortiz in the hallway. He's still on our side.
Later that day I went to another rally outside the Federal Building, to be followed by a 7:00 PM silent torchlight vigil at City Hall, to be followed by a funeral march to the Police Roundhouse where the civil dissers were being held.
This was not to be. The 4:30 march went fine, but what followed did not. Instead of rewriting, I will simply paste my letter to A.N.S.W.E.R., the Philadelphia chapter of which organized the march.

Dear ANSWER protest organizers,

Brendan Skwire here, with a question and a story for
#1: what is going on today? I work until 5:00 PM, but
afterwards hope to do some demonstrating. There was
word last night that there would be a march at 4:30
today, but I have yet to hear details. Please email
#2: After you left at 6:00 PM, a few of us stuck
around for what was billed as a march to the
roundhouse/ torchlight vigil set to begin at 7:00 PM.
Interestingly, none of the ANSWER people I talked to
knew anything about it although fliers were abundant
earlier in the day. As I have said before, I urge that
you organize better and work with other groups. UNITY
is what we need, and we MUST NETWORK AND COMMUNICATE
ASSIDUOUSLY. It is extremely frustrating to discover
that the ANSWER person handing out fliers is not
informed about other related actions going on. It
decreases any effectiveness we may have.
But where was I? Oh yes...
As it was 6:00 and there was an hour to go before the
7:00 PM march, my friend and I opted out of standing
around in the pouring rain and walked down to Nodding
Head for a quick beer. When we came back at 7:00,
there were about 20 protestors left, and what looked
like more than 60 uniformed police with their batons
out, as well as a wall of detectives. This was more
police than I have ever seen before at a demonstration
other than the cadres that were herding people around
during the Republican National Convention, and
certainly the largest cop/protestor ratio I've seen
for a rally as small as last night's.

The protestors were singing and dancing on the
sidewalk in front of city hall, when the police began
to advance and surround everyone, swinging their
nightsticks and pushing in closer and closer. As the
police closed in, I slowly moved away (I may someday
decide to be arrested, but last night was not the
time), but kept tabs on what was going on. The
protestors slowly moved north up Broad Street trying
to keep just ahead of the police, chanting "This is
what a police state looks like, this is what a police
state looks like."
After sitting on a bench as incognito as possible, I
wandered over to a wastebasket to deposit an empty and
sopping bag of chips that was festering in my jacket
pocket. "Hey Buddy, how you doing?" said middle-aged
fellow standing next to a similarly aged woman. "I saw
you looking at me, and I like to say hi to people who
look at me."
I could tell immediately that they were two
plainclothes officers, but pretended not to notice
anything, I said "I wasn't looking at you, but hi,
how're you this evening?" Then feigning ignorance, I
pointed down the street saying "What's going on here,
are those protestors?"
"And there's THAT MANY police to deal with them?
They're just a bunch of kids! Why's it take 60 odd
cops and detectives to deal with that many kids?"
Still pretending I didn't know they were police, I
said "You know, I support those kids over there. And
even though I think it's bad for the cops to put them
down like that, you know, I understand the police have
a job to do."
"You should be glad you live in a country where the
government lets people protest," piped up the woman.
"Oh, sure sure, I am," I said. "But you know what gets
me really ticked off? It's that these cops here have
to go out and as part of their job put down civil
disturbances against an administration that is cutting
the police's budget to deal with terror! I read just
this morning that there's no money for the police to
deal with chemical attacks, bio attacks... nothing!
And these poor dupes have to go out and put down these
protestors who are against that kind of thing. It's
upside down, isn't it?"
The man didn't look too happy. "yeah, I know," he
muttered. "I know..."
"And you know what's gonna happen? Eventually, we're
gonna have another terrorist attack, right? And these
poor cops are gonna have to go in and risk their lives
again, and the administration won't give them the
tools they need to do their job. But here they are,
in the rain, clamping down on these kids. It's
bullshit how these cops are being duped. I mean, my
cousin's a cop in New York, and he's in the same
Now the woman was scowling too.
"Listen, it's wet out here," I said. "I gotta get
"Well, you have a nice night buddy," said the fellow.
And as I turned to leave I said, "You have a nice
night too, Officer..."

So please let me know what's going on tonight, and
please please for Pete's sake, network with the MoveOn
people, the True Majority people, etc etc. These
marches will be stronger and more effective when we
are all on the same page.
Thank you.
Brendan Skwire

Wednesday, March 19, 2003

Here's a good one from FOX.
Now pardon me if I sound paranoid. But given that the FBI is going around detaining "people sympathetic to Iraq" (as well as "disgruntled people" as the headline originally read) and FOX is lumping groups like IAC and ANSWER with terrorists, am I nuts for beeing a little freaked out right now?
So you thought the French were pussies for not wanting to come along in our Iraq adventure?
Well, what to make of the Spanish? So eager to suck up to the US, Aznar commited his country to the Coalition of the Willing, but now is unwilling to send combat troops over.
Oye, pato, donde esta sus cojones? Tienes la boca muy grande, Jose...
The Coalition of the willing, which includes Afghanistan, Albania, Australia, Azerbaijan, Bulgaria, Colombia, the Czech Republic, Denmark, El Salvador, Eritrea, Estonia, Ethiopia, Georgia, Hungary, Italy, Japan, South Korea, Latvia, Lithuania, Macedonia, the Netherlands, Nicaragua, the Philippines, Poland, Romania, Slovakia, Spain, Turkey, United Kingdom and Uzbekistan is interesting.
Only Britain and Australia are sending lots of troops. Poland, according tot he article is sending 200 troops, while the Czechs are providing some degree of chemical weapons support.
The rest of these guys, including Spain, are sending nobody. If the world was a schoolyard, these countries are the guys who are friends with the bully. When the bully gets ina fight, they form a ring around the two combatants and yell things like "Hit him again, Howie!" and "Faggot ass, Howie's gonna kill you!"
What i can't believe is that the stoner dutch are involved in this.
Oh wait: Shell Oil. Duh.
Hope this doesn't sound too disgruntled.
Don't wanna get hauled off to a FEMA--d'oh I meant Happy--Camp.

Thursday, March 13, 2003

I own a home now. It's a nice home, although it needs work. I wish I had a link to the jawn, but I don't.
I paid a pittance for it: only $35,000 for a 2-story semi-detached twin built in 1923. Nice features, like some of the original leaded glass windows, a massive backyard, an eat-in kitchen, living room, dining room and 3.5 bedrooms.
In the past 2 days of work, a small crew and I have managed to put to coats of paint on the LR and DR, and w'eve pulled up all the wall to wall on the first floor. I just got the oil heater fixed, and this weekend I'm going to learn how to replace the waste pip in the basement.
On deck: painting the second floor, getting the floors sanded and refinishing them, laying tile in the kitchen, and getting a gas stove.
Is it any wonder I'm always tired?

Wednesday, March 12, 2003

Update on Tamara Saviano: Kirt wrote back!

From: "Kirt Webster" | This is Spam | Add to Address Book
To: "Brendan Skwire"
Subject: Re: Charlie Daniels and Free Speech
Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 08:20:20 -0600

I invite you to read the "Tennessean" newspaper today. It clearly explains the chain of events that transpired and in NO way, shape, or form did I or Mr. Daniels have anything to do with Tamara Saviano losing her job.

It now appears that Ms. Saviano thought her boycott email was to be perceived as a "tongue-an-cheek" joke. Much different from the
previous statements.

So please read the Tennessean and get all the details.
Kirt Webster
Webster & Associates Public Relations
(a division of Webster Companies, Inc.)
PO Box 23015
Nashville, TN 37202
615/777-6995 office
615/369-2515 fax
So I read the article, drew my own conclusions, and wrote back:

Dear Mr. Webster,

After reading your letter, visiting the Tennessean, reading a forwarded article in Twangzine about Ms. Saviano's firing, and re-reading the email forwarded to me, I have come to what I think is an informed conclusion about the incident.

I do agree with one of your theses: Mr. Daniels had nothing to do with her firing. I DO believe that you did however. Given that Mr.
Daniels is a client of yours, and given the firey nature of Ms. Saviano's initial email to Mr. Daniels (in which she referred to his open letter as "bulls--t propaganda) I find it a more than a bit disingenuous that you say "I didn't call to complain, and I didn't call to get her fired." As my mother is wont to say, "I wasn't born yesterday."

Of course you called to complain. I'd be angry too if someone called one of my clients names and tried to start a boycott: that's money out of your pocket! What you forget here, Mr. Webster, is that Ms. Saviano's email was sent via her home address at aol, and had nothing to do with her job. Furthermore, Mr. Daniels explicitly invited a response. Ms. Saviano was well within her rights, and your response was over-the-top and wrongheaded.

Please have a little respect for my intellect: I'm not a stupid person. Would that you were as wise as Daniel Webster whose last name you share. Charlie Daniels has a right to his opinion, as ignorant as it may be (I say ignorant because by participating in these marches myself, I have met many many veterans who are adamant this war on Iraq is wrong: you may visit them here. Ms. Saviano has every right to her opinion too. Mr. Daniels, in his OPEN LETTER invited comment. That is why we call this place "America" and not the "Soviet Union" or "Singapore" or "Communist China." And while I realize some people don't believe in the Bill of Rights anymore, I most certainly do, and I will continue to exercise them.
You should be ashamed of yourself for trampling on the free speech rights of this woman. What would your mother think? For that matter, what would your Scoutmaster think (presuming you were, as I was, a Boy Scout)?
As for a boycott, I will continue to avoid buying Charlie's products, not so much because of his offensive and confrontational language, nor because of his obvious ignorance regarding war in Iraq, but rather, because his music sucks.
Brendan Skwire

A few weeks ago I noticed a grey hair or two poking out of my chin. My girlfriend was then kind enough to point out it was a hell of a lot more than two (thanks honey), so ove the past week or so I've been growing a beard to see just how this is developing.
First of all, the beard itches like crazy. I have one of those chins that has a little knot of cartilage at the end and a dimple before it meets my lip. The hair growing there pokes down into my chin, while the chin-hair is poking my lower lip. If I hadn't already decided this facial hair experiment was only a temporary adjustment for the purpose of gauging my grey, this infernal itching would have sealed the deal. I have another 2 weeks left before it comes off.
There's a LOT of grey there, but none on my head yet (I'm sure that's next).

Monday, March 10, 2003

Tit for tat
Tamara Saviano was fired from her job because she responded to an open letter by Charlie Daniels.
I wrote a letter, below to the fellow who got her fired. And yes, I really did call Operation TIPS to turn him in as a terrorist.

Mr. Webster,
If Charlie Daniels has a right to call anti-war
protesters names in an open letter that explicitly
invites responses, than Tamara Saviano is certainly
entitled to respond, as she did, from her home email.
Yes Mr. Webster, I am one of the many who received
notification of your dastardly deed, and I am
nauseated to my core.
Perhaps you don't believe in the First Amendment,
which not only gives Charlie the right to speak his
mind, but gives people like Ms. Saviano the right to
There is a reason the First Amendment sits on top of
the Bill of Rights: it is because free speech is our
most precious right. if you don't love free speech,
then you don't love America. if you don't love
America, you are (as Rush Limbaugh put it),
"Anti-American, Anti-Capitalist Marxists and
If you are a communist, why don't you go back in time
to the Soviet Union?
Our president demands that you are "with us or against
us" in the war on terror. By denying Ms. Saviano her
first amendment rights, it is clear that you are
against us. I will be reporting you to the Department
of Homeland Security, and I am not joking.
Brendan Skwire

Sunday, March 09, 2003


I do my best writing when I'm directly emailing people.
This blog is best used as an archive of previously written pieces.
So to all y'all who suggested I set up a blog:


(Claiborne is excepted from this tirade).
Seriously. Don't say "oh I like to visit it once in awhile, when are you gonna update it again?"
I don't know when. And the reason for this is that it's hard, if not impossible, for me to write when I'm not writing for anyone except myself.
Every one of you that thought this was a good idea? It wasn't. Go get fucked, as Bingo Martin would say. Ever since setting this thing up, it's been impossible to finish anything I've been working on. I'm not like you faggy ass "writers" out there, I don't sit around at my precious little typewriter or my little fucking notebook saying "Hmmm, what interesting and deep things will I set down today? How will I get in touch my oh-so-deep-reactions to the world that sound suspiciously like they got ripped out of a Charles Bukowski novel from 30 fucking years ago?" Scroll down a few posts: you'll see the worst kind of forced ruminations and reminisces (stories page excepted). why? BECAUSE THAT SHIT WAS COPIED DIRECTLY FROM EMAILS I SHARED WITH PEOPLE IN THE PAST. "Filth"? Five years old at least, and cut and pasted from an Instant Messaging session a few months back that I happened to save. "What's New Pussycat" is relatively new, except for the half about Florida, which I've recounted dozens of times since 1991. And even reading that one in its present form is like listening to the lamest stand-up comedian in the world.
"Get some discipline, it's easier when you write all the time." FUCK YOU. I write for a living.
So again,


(again, Claiborne's excepted from this one).
I'll keep you off my email list, which is where I do my real work. Check back here in another 6 months or so, I may have something that's worth reading. But for God's sake, don't ask me to update. There's no fucking point when my best stories come out flatter than a 12-year-old's chest.
And if you don't like hearing it, well perhaps you should stop visiting this little home-away-from-email you were so vociferous I should build. Sorry if your bright idea didn't pan out as expected.