tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16753115744966489062012-01-25T10:08:49.939-05:00: EVERY MOMENT IS LOVELY, YES :~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.comBlogger721100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-82283668452296965392011-10-19T12:40:00.001-04:002011-10-19T12:41:42.920-04:00

I have some great news. My first book, Steal Me for Your Stories, is available for pre-order. This collection of short stories took me several years to write - many of which first appeared on this blog - and being only a few months away from holding it in my hands is pretty thrilling. Also, I'm donating everything I make from this book to a trust for my late cousin's family, so even if you

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-28560325437436055562011-04-26T23:47:00.001-04:002011-04-26T23:47:51.358-04:00

I do not like to run for trains but it was right there, I could see it, so I scampered. I swiped my card and the turnstile told me to “please swipe again,” and if turnstiles could laugh they would laugh like MWAHAHAHA. I watched the train doors close and I saw the empty seat where I could have been sitting speed past. A woman with a guitar was singing, really going for it on the high notes. She

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-22207699545810927042010-09-30T00:18:00.000-04:002010-09-30T00:18:57.836-04:00

The new spot is www.ottomattiq.com, and here is the new RSS feed, if you are so inclined: http://www.ottomattiq.com/rss.

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-5345258693294700802010-09-07T22:10:00.001-04:002010-09-08T21:40:00.502-04:00

She and I said goodbye not for the last time and maybe we have a chance if we can accept that somehow we are doomed : death or dirty deeds : and the air is warm and there is a breeze on the city sidewalks and a motorcycle rumbles past and revs and pops and all the women are wearing what they must think are their last summer outfits so they show as much as possible and they jiggle in the right

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-28216766991511395822010-07-09T11:23:00.004-04:002010-09-01T08:10:57.398-04:00

I was going to walk through the fountain but it is off. There are still lots of adults and teens and kids in the park. There is a water-balloon fight. "Fuck you, nigga! I got one for you, nigga!" SPLASH! They are not black. I stay dry. It is still hot out. The sky just turned black but the clouds are still white. Motorcycles. Bus breaks. Someone's phone is playing music. I do not normally do

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-21504885887007007712010-07-02T11:16:00.004-04:002010-07-05T13:52:17.011-04:00

A glass of water is still too complicated to drink. More difficult than walking over a wet sidewalk grate. My feet slide across it and I think of tongues licking teeth, the teeth of a father with daughters only, a dad who drunk-dials me during the day and says, "What could be more honest than that?" See, she fell and he laughed, and he says, "The only reason I ever love someone is because it

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-78161194919828676952010-06-28T00:05:00.001-04:002010-06-28T00:05:36.360-04:00

I held open the cab door for her as she slid across the seat and she said, "Wow, how long does this kind of treatment last?" And I said, "Until you stop appreciating it." That's how it is with everything. She smiled. I could see up her skirt as I gave her my hand. I kissed her when she stood up and wrote a note about the exchange in my phone. I also wrote: Being nice to most women is a waste of

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-68433295153632364512010-06-21T14:04:00.000-04:002010-06-21T14:05:12.526-04:00

Memorize her body like a blind man : this is not free : slide a finger through what is left of you on her skin : trace slick lines that glisten against curves and softness and bone : wash them away : laughter in a blistering shower : steamy wet footprints track back to the bed : a bruise like a bloody kiss under a breast : nose pressed against newly warm neck : everything smells like what it is :

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-48285771503075907152010-05-27T19:58:00.013-04:002010-06-10T19:17:35.021-04:00

She asked to be slapped and she screamed and slapped back and said she likes to create conflict. The bite marks on her shoulder were deep so deep. A bruise like a butterfly wing. Everything fit perfectly : tongue and tit : ass and spank : hand and throat. Her boyfriend, though. This was her way out, no chance for try again, the way to make him lift instead of her and whythefucknot and she

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-5386562405257514212010-05-16T20:58:00.007-04:002010-06-06T18:31:56.646-04:00

Because it is so easy to be difficult and because when someone says red I hear numbers. I count the drips on the side of my cone. Children play in the park and the swing sets squeak. I always say that. A new sentence came to me last night while I was sleeping and I repeated it over and again in my dream to memorize it. I forgot it as soon as I woke up. I remember that it was the second

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-79605216440199870062010-05-11T20:18:00.007-04:002010-05-15T16:34:17.023-04:00

This little fat fucking kid and his stupid fucking friend are not looking where they are running in the crosswalk so I let the fat one slam into my shoulder and maybe I dipped a little into him and he crashes to the asphalt and his backpack splits open and all his books and papers spill onto the street and I feel like my good deed is done for the day, hard lesson learned for the young one,

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-84159053073840008762010-05-08T13:32:00.001-04:002010-05-15T16:34:44.867-04:00

There is a secret burlesque show inside a hot dog stand inside an unknown hat shop inside a midnight nightclub inside a speakeasy. She said if I came, she would let me eat her nipples. Secret knock: bribe the bouncer: tip the cap: bacon-wrapped with avocados and sour cream. I step inside a red telephone booth, close the folding door. The phone rings, I answer. A trap door springs and I fall

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-42705027799836716992010-04-03T14:57:00.001-04:002010-04-03T14:57:57.784-04:00

Each time a train grinds its ax through the station, I tingle at the thought of someone unseen pushing me onto the tracks. Too much everything, and owed apologies. So, look, what I am trying to say is: you can talk and talk and I will listen mostly and I will kiss you so so soft to shut you up, whisper in your ear, but baby I just want to fuck.Maybe that is a lie, maybe. A sound that sounds

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-63386227221568213882010-03-28T14:41:00.002-04:002010-03-28T14:41:38.458-04:00

it is not just the cold months that make living so hard, it is the short days and dirty snow and the fear that it will never end but it does and from my window the choral chaos of children playing in the park and a chiming ice cream truck and I go outside with shoes on but no socks to take a dirty shirt to the cleaners and I lick my first dipped cone and walk into woods that are

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-15171009478393033822010-03-14T23:21:00.002-04:002010-06-01T23:40:02.402-04:00

My bipolar ex-girlfriend said, "Life is what you fake it," and I hated her for that, for being right, for being smarter than me, so I scraped my fork across the yellow bubble of a yolk, watched it ooze, and said, "Tomorrow is as meaningless as yesterday." "Shut the fuck up with the Buddhist, in-the-moment crap," she said. "And eggs are disgusting, you fucking embryo eater. How can you eat

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-69997200959131734252010-02-10T02:17:00.008-05:002010-05-24T00:51:51.647-04:00

My dick was so hard in my hand it woke me up early without the alarm. Porn for breakfast, no shower and naked pushups until failure. I left a sticky handprint on the floor and there was spackle just below where my waist nearly touched the parquet between half-packed boxes. Or maybe they are half-unpacked. A neighbor introduced herself in the elevator and shook my unwashed hand. She rubbed her

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-50517285933040396832010-01-13T21:59:00.013-05:002010-02-22T21:15:50.743-05:00

¿ and what could be more honest than that ? she fell and he laughed and I guess I am supposed to say something better than good "good" is not good ¿ "something" is not so great either but can we let that one go ? good there is nothing to see here move along these lines ¿ where is the torque that twists bubbling innards and makes the thumping behind glittering bones rush

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-68912710870645856372010-01-08T21:46:00.003-05:002010-01-09T09:11:52.115-05:00

A hand dragged a razor across a foamy vagina on the movie screen behind the deejay until it was bald. The pink monster was as big as he was, could have swallowed him whole as he spun a record, held headphones to his ear, and bobbed his head. "It looks like a piece of chewed up bubble gum." ~O~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-39089161557199248322009-12-28T21:54:00.002-05:002009-12-28T21:54:54.063-05:00

And weeks go by and I picture a woman I have never met in person playing in the sun somewhere I have never known. She is funny and smart and what might have been. She must be happy because she is not around much any more, around me on the circuits and wires, and I am happy for her but sad for myself because I am selfish and my ego is out of control and I miss her, what so very little I held of

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-86770159513988819842009-12-20T22:33:00.004-05:002009-12-20T22:46:29.529-05:00

Tires over wet cobblestones. Dead pines on sidewalks, the smell so good the smell. (Or are they firs?) You are good at smiling. Better even than that yellow dude with dots for eyes and a circle head who will live forever. I will give you money. Something nice on a not nice day. Lip mittens and belly hats. Past glass bottles of upstate milk, lopsided pies,

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-70932334661736591792009-12-12T14:39:00.000-05:002009-12-12T14:40:14.169-05:00

You don't understandYou don't understandI have no wordsI think I'm going to dieI don't careI don't careIt was the craziest night of my lifeI'm shaking You have no ideaI'm calling you because I need redemptionAnd you know if I say it was the craziest night of my life thenDudeI have no wordsMy nana won't even speak to me I met this guy named Carlos from Rhode IslandI have no idea what he's doing

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-49163772643418473382009-12-08T23:43:00.002-05:002010-06-06T19:33:37.049-04:00

She does not remember what happened that night, she claims, so I hint at the thing and then deny it happened, but like it really did, and it twists her into a mental mess. I feel guilty, but in the good way that you get from fucking with someone over something not so important. It is more fun to watch her squirm over the thing than the thing itself (which may or may not have happened). She does

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-67702031368212781062009-12-02T00:51:00.003-05:002009-12-02T08:07:04.691-05:00

If there was a person dying inside the warm banking area next to the ATMs, I could not insert my card in the door properly to save her life. So frustrating. And even if I did, she would probably ask me for a ciggie and when I said NOPE a little too enthusiastically as I deposited a check for thousands of dollars -- a gift from family -- she would call me a fucking Jew bastard who fucks for money.

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-574433358587688812009-12-01T00:48:00.008-05:002009-12-01T00:52:49.791-05:00

The old soap star rubbed my ankle with her wrinkled toe under the table:     her boyfriend is a professional killer from another country:     he was right next to her:     he has a funny accent:      he is her son's age:     her son is a dear friend:     the toilets in her country home are unfucking real:     they do not have handles on the side:     you have to pull a silver rod up from the top

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-52969568261610663302009-11-27T14:44:00.005-05:002009-11-27T14:47:07.477-05:00

69jojo69's other-side-of-the-world boredom is infectious. Hello, SuckOnMyClit. 000000000ASS has nice eyes and huge nipples. BadBoyakaPussyDog types: "U mke my penis very happy bb." 000000000ASS adjusts the computer camera in her cramped room. How has your day been, squirtfabianne? 10inchdeeppussy says she has a headache from bad chicken. She will not smile. (Who the fuck gets headaches from

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-33447364943210344942009-11-19T00:02:00.002-05:002009-11-22T22:14:20.154-05:00

A pile of worn clothes sleeps on its side of the bed, me on mine. It is about the size of an average female human with minty breath and nice tits. I leave it there, add not-dirty-yet jeans, remove a sweatshirt, toss a bag or a damp towel and it is like time-lapse twists and turns while slow-motion dreaming. My arm over the pile, but no kiss goodnight. No, I do not kiss it goodnight. No. The herd

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-18426092299247228492009-11-13T09:43:00.005-05:002009-12-19T23:37:12.628-05:00

It flexes and sways up the stairs, a nose away from my nose. It is all I can do not to plunge in and never come out, but I just suck it with my eyes. What is that, cotton? Boots clomp, purse swings. The one who is gone used to wear boots like that, but better. I used to pinch her butt as she climbed to the platform and she would pretend to mind. It is harder to pretend not to mind. Turnstile

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-6443627001632317842009-11-05T18:54:00.004-05:002009-12-10T22:08:14.100-05:00

My knuckle is swelling like the neck veins of a radio talk show host. I almost broke my fucking thumb hooking a sock off my heel, but that is not worse than having to shake my piss-dripping dick like a baby who just refuses to shut the fuck up. (Don't make that face, motherfucker.) When did this shit start? Oh, right. It started when I noticed the circles of piss on my pants every time I left

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-55980247301176664022009-10-31T11:52:00.006-04:002010-06-13T15:41:40.133-04:00

She makes a point of saying the cross-street, across from the building where the famous singer lived, the one across from the park where a nut with a gun killed him, and people still leave him flowers. She used to live there but she left the city for sprawl with a beach and no winter. She wants to open a doggie daycare but she doesn't have to do shit, really. She is back to see friends and hang

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-89835782067119097892009-10-27T23:56:00.007-04:002010-05-30T08:09:04.460-04:00

The girl asks for directions, and maybe she is not so hot, but I put my conversation on hold and stand in the cold outside the subway station a little longer to find her destination on my phone. She has glasses and piercings in her face. Respectable piercings, little studs on her lip and in her nose. She hides bright blue eyes behind the thick-rimmed specs, and her voice is high-pitched and not

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-73476595769717009682009-10-18T21:41:00.000-04:002009-10-18T21:41:40.167-04:00

Somebody not that famous broke up with somebody not that famous. Silver balloon hoax. Fell asleep during overtime. (Wake me up during the playoffs.) Okay, if you are still reading this, I have secrets to tell. You have to promise not to blah blah blah. Okay? No, seriously. Okay? Okay, I will tell you: I love the snow but hate the winter. I hate the sand but love the beach. I love money but

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-92228805512255731752009-10-11T22:23:00.000-04:002009-10-11T22:23:40.524-04:00

The best man was writing a short speech while clippers buzzed in the hotel bathroom. He wrote about the time the groom drove up next to an old woman, waved until she turned to look, and when she smiled and waved back, his friend flipped her off and, oh, the look of horror on the old woman's face, and how his friend laughed and laughed and laughed. The best man scratched out that part with his pen

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-73007446803367275402009-10-06T19:54:00.004-04:002009-11-02T19:12:58.847-05:00

Knuckles like elephant knees. Pink bends to white bends to pink. Ridges and grooves from weather and knives. Lines of ink on a palm — a sign, a tickle. Sips of Sazerac. This pair, bone marrow and marmalade. ~O~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-50724584758816379772009-09-30T18:36:00.004-04:002009-09-30T19:33:55.207-04:00

My alarm clock is the crack of a soda can and the flick flicK fliCK flICK fLICK FLICK of a lighter. An arched ceiling amplifies every sound from the kitchen, and every day her breakfast is high-fructose carbonation and cancer. She is always up before me, and I cannot sleep without my hand on a breast and my dick pressing between the cheeks of her ass. She has to be at work soon. She could have

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-16006033811738706152009-09-24T18:58:00.004-04:002009-09-27T22:54:10.728-04:00

I woke up at 2:30 in the morning, upright on the couch in my underwear, sweaty and scared. The last thing I remembered had something to do with tequila and laughing too loudly. There was a trail of clothes from the hallway to the living room and crumpled cash on the coffee table. My arm was cut in a couple places. I turned off the TV, laid/lied in bed, stared at the ceiling, and asked myself why

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-18126646416048684252009-09-21T23:53:00.006-04:002009-12-25T02:27:18.897-05:00

They were small, not fuzzy or feathered, nothing that screamed or wailed, something that could not fight back. Serial killers do the same shit around that age. Snapped a bone, pushed it through slick skin, nailed it to the dirt so it lived a bit longer but could not escape much. "There's another one!" he said. A surge, a wave breaking in my feet and fists. Cracked a jaw, cut an eye out,

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-26388256133619489522009-09-13T20:49:00.004-04:002009-11-07T05:27:53.737-05:00

Spittle shot from my lips when she made me laugh, and a pleasant breeze blew it back in my face. "That's what you get for being happy," she said. That was the last day we touched. Our only communication now is increasingly infrequent IMs. She checks in, asks how I am doing, and I lie to her because I lie to myself. She asks me again in a different way. Cops and reporters do the same thing for

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-33963168175109186222009-08-23T17:22:00.005-04:002009-12-25T02:27:40.052-05:00

A woman with a gun and a badge studies me as she hands out sheets of paper, wanted posters with a drawing of man who fucked someone without permission. I take one, examine the sketch to make sure it is not me. The nose is different. The shape of the eyeholes is similar but the angles of the brow and cheeks, if you look closely, are off a bit. I have nice lips — let's be honest — but his are

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-13524104497436732272009-08-16T17:56:00.001-04:002009-08-16T18:14:22.400-04:00

Those little baggies were supposed to unleash all these great words and stories but it only unleashed laying (I do not care if it is supposed to be lying) on the couch and watching TV. Cindy Morgan in "Caddyshack." Wow. Touch myself. And then a postcard to someone I care about. And then the sound of a fan. And then that goddamn fucking echo. Pacing shirtless and sweaty. And then a faded

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-4563651783535138912009-07-29T22:06:00.003-04:002009-08-02T12:27:29.747-04:00

There is this girl, she wakes up coughing and smiling and Kleenexing and laughing and cussing the doo-doo cat that puts its a-hole on everything. Every morning, every cold Monday, every wet Wednesday, every warm Friday, every easy Sunday, she wakes up kissing this boy and joking this boy while he is rubbing his eyes and grumbling and unappreciating … well, not any more. But he bets she still

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-52108223419242318872009-07-28T05:28:00.002-04:002009-12-05T18:58:37.276-05:00

A wall of boxes in the hall, in the bedroom, in every room, all hers. Empty drawers, pictures taken down, my few things still in their place. It is like trying to suck just the yolk out of a scrambled egg. The boxes will be lifted, and carried down stairs, and set in a truck, and there will be an echo when she closes the door. And the failure, again, and the facing myself alone, again, without

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-17717848370947009732009-07-23T00:19:00.013-04:002009-12-13T16:58:00.180-05:00

The emcee – not a rapper, an emcee, there is a fucking difference – so this emcee said the whole world is an allusion, no no no, an illusion, and he said the only thing in this world that is real is you, and he said never let the world create you, never let someone else do that. Create yourself. He roared over feedback as dudes strolled through the crowd selling nutcrackers from coolers for

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-42680691185444605552009-06-19T20:04:00.000-04:002009-11-10T20:05:52.681-05:00

I am late for work because I fucked my girl before I got dressed and I didn't even wipe off my dick so I squirted Irish Tweed on my wrists, neck and chest to mask it and I squirted probably too much because my girlfriend kisses me bye and gives me the wtf face and I wait for the train and this egg-eyed man gives me the I-hate-your-race face and he is filthy and a bottle sticks its neck out of his

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-18576611595314025412009-06-11T09:37:00.001-04:002009-06-11T09:37:48.460-04:00

VHS ... we used to be so in love~@~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-40661693070621668282009-06-06T14:23:00.016-04:002009-12-25T02:28:09.995-05:00

I walk out in front of a bus that has its turn signal on, you know, because it's telling me it's turning. But it isn't turning. My girlfriend yells, "Look out!" and we dash to the sidewalk as the bus driver hits the horn and the breaks. He shoots us a look. I shoot one back. I know I didn't have the "white man walking" sign. I had the "talk to the big red hand" sign. Whatever. It's the city,

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-86945886470521481322009-05-27T16:13:00.003-04:002009-05-27T16:17:17.008-04:00

every guy on his blackberry like hez got somewhere better to be even though he doesntevery dork in the room hitting on the hottest girl who dances the best ignoring the restdudes with jackets and scarves in the ninetyplus degreesall the jealous hags mock her moves while their boyfriends gawksixteendollar shots of patronevery topforty hit gets the hottest girl who dances the best out of her

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-84070828013070881142009-05-12T21:46:00.003-04:002009-05-12T21:46:47.724-04:00

A lotI know people in the office see itAnd talk about meBehind my backI would~O~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-47579232504970806402009-05-02T17:14:00.002-04:002009-05-02T17:25:43.632-04:00

1) I just took a shit the size of a tornado.2) I just pissed on my shirt.3) I just plucked a pube as long as my forearm.Sent from my iPhone

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-61378626947472163732009-04-24T18:18:00.004-04:002010-06-20T23:14:29.558-04:00

I am sitting on a bench and the sun is shining and the trees are blooming and flower pedals are floating on the breeze and I hear a basketball bouncing and a skateboard clacking and grinding and every guy has a porkpie hat and tattoos and the shadows are stretching like they are getting ready for bed and a motorcycle growls as it passes and the clouds are so white and so perfect against the

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-65155338534519983682009-04-23T21:34:00.006-04:002009-04-25T20:31:12.626-04:00

I don’t know about you but I spend about 15 hours a day or more staring into a glowing HAL9000 computer monitor or tiny HAL9000 laptop screen. iPhone at all times in between. It never stops. I hate Facebook, but I’m on it. MySpace is dead finally, thankfully. I hate Twitter the most, but I’m on it. Work demands it, all the social networking, which feels like eating Twinkies filled with Twinkies

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-25338306080134946582009-04-14T22:04:00.001-04:002009-04-14T22:04:45.565-04:00

Man, my shoulder hurts like kicked nuts. Pinched nerve that runs into my neck. I can't look to my left. I can't jerk off with my left hand. No "Stranger." I never did that anyway.  I prefer "The Expert." I prefer a nice finger-thumb pinch under the helmet at the exact right moment. I prefer to shoot that goop a mile, Pollock the wall.  Pinch it to Pollock. DNA art. Fuck you. Splat. My shoulder

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-77009947226546251682009-03-31T18:47:00.002-04:002009-03-31T18:50:02.196-04:00

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!Stranger: Hi You: AlohaStranger: Shaddap and speak english. You: me no speaky engrishYou: I like peas Stranger: J'aime les bites :'DYou: I have a 12-inch foot Stranger: I thought you didn't speak english :' (You: I am a robot You: this site is fakeStranger: Mhm Stranger: okaaay !Stranger: Can I fuck your mom? You: My mom is deadYou: so yeah

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-22055087922059694192009-03-24T18:15:00.002-04:002009-04-03T15:55:31.644-04:00

? met ! online? really dug what ! had to say about things! was confident and seemed to have some answers! really liked ?'s sexy curvesAnd ? made ! thinkThey fucked a lotBut ! overreacted to almost everythingAnd ? was never sure about anythingThey started to fight a lotBut they stayed together, and worked on thingsAnd ? and ! tried to learn how to . sometimesBecause ! really loved ?And ?

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-10000839631085186472009-03-19T09:03:00.002-04:002009-03-24T18:16:43.160-04:00

I steal a moment in the checkout line all mine. I stare at the chocolate bars and drift off by myself with you at my side, the celery and dried cranberries and whole-grain motherfuckin bread slidin down the black belt toward the scanner beep beep beep the bill. Chocolate with pistachios chocolate with orange fillin chocolate with somethin I dunnowhat. This ain't no Hershey's bullshit this is from

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-53236337087490612362009-03-17T08:25:00.000-04:002009-03-17T08:25:00.149-04:00

I study them allSift the random noise for cluesInnocent music

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-82069520412059349082009-03-15T14:00:00.003-04:002009-04-28T19:23:16.594-04:00

Dude, what the fuck is this in the fridge? It looks like a goddamn science experiment.Don't fuck with that, man. Trust me. You don't want to be anywhere near that glass.Then why is it next to the goddamn milk?Sorry, I'd been keeping it in the vegetable crisper.You wanna tell me what it is?You really don't want to know.Well, if it's in our fridge and dangerous then I think I ought to know for my

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-45533484280835060122009-03-11T17:38:00.004-04:002009-09-10T23:38:58.962-04:00

I have something I really need to tell you. It's important. Today at work while I was reading some idiot's blog post about a lunatic ninja kangaroo I thought about you and us, and I wondered where it all went wrong, why it went wrong, how we could fix it, then I thought that you're just totally insane and there's no fixing that, then I thought I'm even crazier than you – well, not really, but I'm

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-9761080110802403102009-03-04T08:03:00.000-05:002009-03-04T08:03:00.124-05:00

The 1 train hurtles away from 231st, bending on elevated rails, pulling me farther away from you, still naked and warm in our bed, half-awake, half-dreaming that I was at your side.The train clatters on the bridge over the icy Harlem River, and a blanket is twisted across your body, a breast bare, eyes closed. With a fingertip you rim your navel like it was the edge of a glass. I'm late and there

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-9139453266484863172009-03-02T11:45:00.004-05:002009-03-02T11:45:03.170-05:00

My left eyelid had been twitching all day. It was kinda neat at first, a fun little involuntary jiggle, like in high school biology when you made severed frog legs jump with an electrical charge. But it wouldn't stop. I looked in the bathroom mirror and I could barely see the eyelid quivering, but it started to feel like a tiny punching bag.I pulled out my clippers and shaved my hair into a

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-48420024743400674082009-02-28T11:11:00.001-05:002009-02-28T11:11:58.418-05:00

I've opened a new document on my computer, and I want to type, and I hear you in the kitchen talking to the cat, "You hungry? You want some food? Okay, in a minute," and I hear you turn on the water, and it's pouring into the sink, and then you turn on some music, and I hear you rustling through a plastic bag, and then the clanging of pans, and you sing along to the song, and I hear the

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-62169987988419484622009-02-24T20:34:00.012-05:002009-08-29T01:03:12.838-04:00

His girl's pussy squirts when she comes. Gushers. She cooks, too. Duck and shit. She wears sexy boots when they go out. To movies, dinner. They ordered the tasting menu at wd~50 as an act of patriotism. He bought the Alexander McQueen special edition gator Pumas. She bought more sexy boots, and a riding crop. He sees celebrities at the gym. Bradley Cooper stretched in front of a treadmill, pulled

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-69109877576111298122009-02-20T08:24:00.000-05:002009-02-20T18:23:17.564-05:00

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-82981919298952699002009-02-19T07:59:00.001-05:002009-02-21T14:27:06.724-05:00

I said I would do it.Yeah, but it's the way you said it.How did I say it?You said, Okay, when do you want me to show up?And?And what?And what's wrong with that?You are so stupid. I've explained this a dozen times. Your mother has, too.She's been divorced four times.Exactly. She knows what ends relationships. She's an It's Not What You Say But How You Say It expert.Oh right.That's exactly what I'm

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-57025114605665628292009-02-16T17:27:00.001-05:002009-07-23T12:14:15.051-04:00

the day after you left isaw a young girl on my walk to workit was coldshe looked like a teenage youi could see her breath in the airshe avoided eye contacti held back tears as she passeda wake of perfumeflowers, cinnamonwettrail behind her, trail behind heri closed my eyes, deep breathheld the scent in my lungs, walked with my eyes still shut until i got scaredhow old are youeighteenhow do i know

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-37012532423817900302009-02-15T11:16:00.002-05:002009-09-10T23:33:36.913-04:00

(my iphone only dials your number and it only takes your calls)(it only takes pictures of you (that only i can see) (and maybe you))((the gps only finds the nearest location of your lips (walking directions (its a nice day))(to here)(from my lips))(it doesnt play mp3s (only the sound of you taking a shower in the morning before its light out))(you hum (and sometimes sing))(the water gurgles in

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-70728994473420863712009-02-15T10:27:00.001-05:002009-02-15T10:27:56.363-05:00

went to the florist and wrote a note on a card on some flowers on a table that went on a trip in a van down the street and up some stairs to a woman with a juicy ass and she opened the door naked and broke into tears at the sight of the all the colors on all the flowers and read my note and told me what a pretty peen I have and we licked each other~O~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-2265411072730006602009-02-15T10:20:00.001-05:002009-02-15T10:29:39.044-05:00

she slid her tongue from the bottom to the tip and he was thinking about the words he'd use to describe it because for him writing about it is even better~O~

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-25076675214291019392009-02-13T09:23:00.001-05:002009-02-13T09:26:10.150-05:00

It's windy, she says. He looks up and it is windy. She takes a shower and dresses for work. He kisses her and says happy birthday, reservations at 630. She leaves pissed the fuck off that he didn't respond properly when she made the comment about the wind. He jacks off all over himself, his thick, pink meat half hard. Tera Patrick in a limo. He tastes it, and thinks about on-the-bone

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-71229373173096136582009-02-12T08:28:00.001-05:002009-02-12T13:15:41.819-05:00

Hi _____ (name),My kids are _____ (adjective) so I will be _____ing (verb) from _____ (place) today. If you need to reach me, go _____ (verb) yourself you _____ing (verb) _____ (type of relative) of a _____ (female animal) with a/n _____(size)-sized _____ (color) penis that hasn't been _____ (verb) properly since _____ (dead person) invented the _____ (mode of transportation).Peace out my _____ (

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-5146099927982874232009-02-11T23:08:00.003-05:002009-08-02T12:14:52.509-04:00

When you smacked your lips it sounded like the hydraulic hiss of the M14a bus. You had a long, dark nose like the dogs at Papaya King. I don't think you like me very much, although I just bought a pair of Alexander McQueen gator Pumas for 3Gs (came with matching gator flip-flops, so). (You call them sandals.) Fresh, she's so fresh, she's fresh. Like a slice of Cheeto pizza. And it's like it's

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-58864410186565725102009-02-10T22:52:00.004-05:002009-08-24T21:14:32.909-04:00

I skipped an Xbox like a smooth stone across the blue water of the toilet bowl, seven skips, beat that. Flushed and walked into the lobby of the hotel, sat down in the purple leather bucket seat of a Jaguar SSX, right next to Kelly Preston, and turned on the blender. She said hi, but I couldn't hear her because of the blender, so she spoke louder, and I said sorry about Jet, and she cried, and

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1675311574496648906.post-54016044680778538402009-02-10T22:42:00.001-05:002009-02-10T23:12:15.627-05:00

He could survive on Fresh Direct, RedTube, a box of Kleenex with aloe, and a bottle of 14-year-old Scapa. Maybe even just Maker's. It's Saturday night. The only light in the living room is the glow of his laptop, where he writes something a dozen people he's never met might think is clever, but also think, This dude needs attention, and maybe some therapy.He wants to write: "Let's divide the

~otto~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08859835662556335529noreply@blogger.com1