oh yeah...

these are my friend jay's drawings of infected vegetables. they are really awesome:

Drawings, T-shirt Company, And Other Hood Shit.

i think shannon and i are starting a t-shirt company with some of my prints. this is still at the early stages of inception, but the idea is progressing. that's all the info i have for now.

Here are some of my drawings, all of them for sale except "stay brutal":

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Stopped Taking Showers On A Regular Basis

I don’t know why, one day it just happened.

Feeling Sorry For Yourself And Other People Is Stupid (How I Spent My Saturday Night: 5/25/13)

I soldered my lips together and cut my hands off with a rusty machete that had black electrical tape wrapped around the handle. Then I picked up some drugs, spat a used needle out the window on my drive home, and listened to it skip off the pavement. It was Memorial Day weekend, and I made it home without getting arrested; phantom hands and fingers gripped the steering wheel.

A replay of the Champions League Final was on my aunt's flat screen tv, and my ass sank into the couch.

At the same time, Ryan, someone who was on the same swim team as me in high school, and now hangs out with/does drugs/gets pissed at me from time to time for various reason (some known, some not), is cooking a steak for himself and a girl that works at Logan's Steak House with Shannon, this girl I know. He left the army (honorably), and moved back into his parents' house, which is a couple miles down the road from my aunt's.

We were over his house last night with Carrie and Shannon because his parents were out of town. He pounded two rib eyes with a meat mallet, put them in a Pyrex dish, marinated them, covered the dish in plastic wrap, and put it in fridge, while Shannon argued on the phone with her off and on girlfriend. Shannon got off the phone, and we went into his living room and Carrie put on a movie.

Shannon and Carrie were telling Ryan how excited they were for his date and dug for the details of what he had planned, and Ryan explained. Shannon and Carrie thought it was cute, a homecooked dinner for two, before the three of them went over the ways in which Ryan could fuck it up and how to avoid it. I nodded off on the couch. Carrie woke me up when it was time to leave. Ryan gave Carrie and Shannon a fist bump and a hug; I got a wave and a cold look—I figured he got pissed because I was nodding off, which made it seem like I didn't care.

Sitting on the couch, I thought about the word, “cute,” and why I don’t care about other people’s happiness.

Sitting on the couch, I wondered why I cared about people who live hundreds of miles away from me that I've never met in person.

And those people are scratching my limbic system with fingernails made out dull razorblades, then kissing the wound to make me feel better.

Cracked lips puckered up, I scraped together an answer that I really can’t explain.

I turned the tv off by hitting the power button on the remote with my big toe.

Spacing out to the electric lullabies of household appliances.

Not hanging out with anyone.

Thinking about a specific individual that I've never met in person who genuinely cares about me.

Smiling the entire time, as I bled out.

The Next Few Months

A dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit is going to abduct me in a gas station parking lot when my car is on empty, pump in slot.

He will throw me in the trunk of his black german luxury sedan after bounding my ankles and wrists with bungee cords, then the blindfold will go on and it will all go black.

The only objects I will be able to discern in the dark are those weird flashes and spots of light I see every time I close my eyes.

I will hear potholes, and feel the pain; a golf bag my only friend.

Except on left turns.

Every left turn, the golf bag will beat the shit out of me with a pitching wedge to the chin, and a driver to the eyebrow.

Fucker.

But it will feel deserved.

It will feel good: teeth cracking in half on grass stained tungsten, blood forming a puddle on the dark gray fabric lining the trunk.

It's turning black, at least that's what I imagine.

How it will feel like against the tips of my arm hairs, the blood.

Black.

The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will open the trunk, pick me up, and cradle my body with his soft hands, closing in on our destination.

He will drop me.

I will hear a elevator door shut.

I will hear it defy gravity with weights and pulleys.

I will hear a bell ring and a door open.

He will pick me up, walk, put me down, unlock a door, open it, pick me up again, put me down again, slide a glass door open, and drag me outside onto concrete, which feels like sandpaper.

The wind will blow my hair from left to right and it will feel nice.

My face will stop bleeding.

The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will tie a heavy metal chain around my neck, and then around an aluminum railing before removing the bungee cords and blindfold.

I will be on a high rise balcony overlooking the city, and the only thought that is running through my mind is how small and insignificant the people look navigating the maze of alleys, parking lots, and sidewalks.


The dignified man with oil slick black/gray hair in sunglasses and a business suit will say, "It's your choice...what you want to do with your life." before he tosses me a chocolate bar and walks out the hotel door.

The chocolate bar will melt in my hand as I eat it, and all I will think about is how big of a magnifying glass it would take to fry the people walking below me, and the identity of the person who defines words for dictionaries, and how much that person gets paid.

Nail Clippers?

i lost my nail clippers and im broke.

there are none in my aunt's house.

my fingernails are long enough to scratch my friend Carrie's back effectively enough to put her to sleep, but creep my coworkers out.

i am really good at scratching backs.

maybe we can work out a deal, back scratch for nail clipper use?

email: crakpipefellatio@gmail.com

 

i decided that i am never going to finish my first novella, How Have You Been?, so i decided to post it because i doubt i will ever formally publish it. i wrote it two years ago for my senior project to graduate from burlington college.

it is based on events that took place over my 2010 winter break in wilkes-barre, pennsylvania with people who i don't even talk to anymore minus carrie, my mom, and my grandparents.

i am going to post more of my creative nonfiction pieces and poetry i wrote in college + the pictures i have been drawing recently.

they are mostly of eyeballs and faces and will be for sale.

and finally, i have recently been recieving really kind words about my writing from a couple of people, which has given me the motivation to get back to work on my second novella called The Stings Don't Hurt So Bad When You're Busting Down The Beehive.

i got rejected a month ago and it made me stagnant because im a pussy. i started second guessing myself, stop writing, and sat on the couch every night i got home from work ruining my brain with reality tv shows and infomercials. num and faded.

to those people, and the people who read this blog, thank you for making me want to write again.


especially james, brittany, carrie, ivan, and megan.


i'll keep everyone posted. i'll try not to be a failure.


STAY BRUTAL!

-mv