What you should buy, no matter how cheap I make it…


A Bucks Worth of Poetry for Five Dollars.

What they call The Look Inside…

I’m Seventifying now. I once had passion, meaning sexual obsessions. Excuse me, Erotic fantasies. Now I am simply sex-wise. This book was the last time I was poetic. Not great but skillful and better than most.

I have explored every part of my being, way more than you. There’s an Alfa Male there, far stronger than you can imagine, and also Alfa female, some concatenation of my heroic mother, my erotic obsessions, and my two female saviors, who quite appropriately hated each other. Third savior might not even be alive. (Hope-a-Hope she is.) Hard thing being my consort. Lived through the Sixties, probably slept with fewer than ten/twelve women overall. Guess that makes me a kind of virgin in the Sexual Revolution.

Content with that. Never did LSD, cocaine, peyote, heroin, or meth either. Just Moët Chandon when I could afford it. Some upper shelf scotch, sweet Bourbon, lots and lots of beer, and then the default to maybe-they-won’t-smell-it vodka.

My Monica keeps asking me why? Better than the ones who ask me why I’m so screwed up. You know. Great writer, why do you need to be drunk? You must be better than that.

No. Not better than that. Sorry, Monica. Not better than that. How to explain it? Mostly, I can’t read what I’ve written, millions of words. It’s the past. Focusing on today stuff. Graphics, words, what I’ll do. Then, periodically, I need to read what I’ve done for months and months, and years. So sorry. I go cruising into my past writing and I can’t believe how good it is because some drink along the way makes me sound smarter when I make few mistakes and destroy everybody who needs destroyed. And that reminds me that I can still write, maybe as well as ever.

Wish I could tell you different, but I’m not. I’ve been nice in many of my professional lives but no longer. At heart, there really is a Clint Eastwood soul. 


Given the right targets, I could do this. Suppose that means the Feds will be showing up. Already warned them about that.

What you all need to do. Read every post I’ve written here in the last six months. In order. I know. Hard to do. Everyone’s mad at me. They should be. And I’m mad at them. Should be. Any fight left in you? Not that I can see.


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