Friday, September 12, 2014


~holds the weird distinction of being, as far as I can remember for a long long time, the first "notes" (that is, blog post culled directly from my personal notebook/journal) of which I have had to drastically snip-snip and leave some things mummy-mum and paperbound for the sake and sensibilities of all un/involved, to be read upon my death maybe, but also a good sign that I'm becoming more gruesomely sexily honest to myself, at least insofar as 'writing' goes~


"Ma, ma,
Look what I did, ma.
Look what I did to my hands,
I broke em." [sage francis -ed.]

. . . . o pitiful me as if, head hung on stoop, so goddamn wine-drunk, stole a potted plant from the Baptist church across the street, but that was earlier, with P, finally fell asleep on shitty fly-ridden concrete in M's backyard.

I am sought-after by women but haven't the slightest how to cherish and am bad at sex unless I am truly loving her.

I am happy ["modes of happiness"] when:
        1. drunk (long-lasting, renewable resource)
        2. post-orgasm (fleeting, personal)


This is my town; the vibration of nightlife to my back, white trash mommas discussing where to find 'bars' (colloquial for Xanax, obv) while pushing babes in strollers, all alive and dying, South Ave, no lights, is all is, SAFO.

"What you once were isn't what you wanna be anymore" - Cory King/Wilco

Barfin a lot tonight. Thinking about Bukowski though I'm not that huge a fan. . . . Need water.

I hate wristbands. Stick to your hair, relegations, regulations. Fuck Nazi Sympathy.

[here I draw a swastika-buster and a Star of David]

Every waking moment I am uncomfortable and displeased.

Post-Jung, post-Hiroshima.

The atom bomb is

Look at the mouth on that pig.


I know where my phone was left, I know if she did.


parameters, system logic: Spyro, internal logic

"fly your balls off"

killed a bunch of people with a hatchet. Great closing scene with old man in woods.
"We're livin' the same life, just tryin' to keep to ourselves, be left alone."
        Monsters are real.


Is it perpetual, Fall on Florence now? How has the summer gone so fast? Time is so fluid, always quickening, I am losing.

Smells like Halloween, the leaves all rattle yet green.


I am utterly defined by the people I miss, whom I hold so dearly in my heart and whom my eyes ache to hold.

Country night is outer space.

poetic justice
emotional impotence


1. Be good.
2. Be helpful.
3. Be honest.
4. Read.
5. Write.

Coffee is ok. Don't over-do it.

Melatonin gave me hallucinations.

Weed makes me paranoid.


teat holler

I am lucky at life,
sucky at life,
and I suck at life.

cat slide as oil slick

Jung Cancer


If given the choice between smoking a cigarette butt at the end of day or dawn of day, I will almost always choose the end. Tomorrow is magnificent. Fuck tomorrow.

This thing done,
that thing done,
we're burning hairs excuse us,
we cling to tunnel walls,
excuse us.


I'm really not racist. I don't consider my honest self to be racist. Problem is these Chinese exchange students and my bad habit to refer to their befuddled asses as "Asians".


If you didn't cause the car wreck, and weren't in the car wreck, why worry about the car wreck?

First words spoken aloud, 1:53 pm, 8/18/14:
"Where's this shit even come from? Goddammit!"



"None can know the man but they who've seen the monster." - me

MONSTER: Ate some of K's melatonin gummies just to see what it tasted like? Ended up fighting drowsiness with coffee and felt crazy. Screamed and howled into an empty house. Punched a chair, pounded the table.

MONSTER: Monster want vodka.

Maybe K's schizophrenic friend was right about me, maybe she could see the


Drinking a bottle of guilt,
I'm drinking a bottle of guilt.
Some prefer milk
But I'd rather drink silt.
I'm drinking a bottle of guilt.

Ferguson is burning.

Kill cops.

My tomb contains thunder.


themes for the writings of Andrew Dietz, 2014. -----> Who am I, I who create? I create who I am? Am I who create who I am, I who create?


The book is far from finished, me boy. Ye are far from the end.

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