If you see everyone around you prosper while you continue to grovel in dogshite, don’t believe it’s because god hates you. it’s because he’s testing you. then ask WHY is he testing you? answer: because he hates you.

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(short blog)

Just one of those days. I finally get round to looking at submissions and I’m thinking PUBLISH A RECORD NUMBER. LET ALL COMMON SENSE FLY OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW. YES INDEED. It’s the kind of mood I’m in. Given that capitalism is about to collapse anyway. SHEEYIT…

I have to say this is the DAMN PROUDEST I’ve been in, in a long time. I haven’t felt encouraged in a long time. I have been beleaguered, poor and struggling for a while now. And lonely. Damn lonely. I don’t mean in the ‘Bull Durham’ ‘ah was lownleee’ way where a woman just wants some lurrve, I mean Bakhtin lonely, Che lonely, Troy Davis lonely, you know, just sitting in here working and believing, even though I know the cunts are coming at me soon with their spears, lances and kill-‘em-bitches torches. Believing all on my lonesome without any power or money or success to show off to the whores out there who only see success, who are terrified of any real action because they are blinded by their terror of being called ‘losers’… Believing, so the other lazy cunts out there will have something to believe in when their world finally starts to fall apart too and they won’t be able to blame the poor or the colored or some other ‘losers’ they can’t look down on anymore and will have to face the fact that they were getting buggered by the wealthy and the STATE all the fucking time (sad sacks)…

I haven’t written a blog in such a long time, I don’t even know what it means. I have (if you can believe it) been focusing on me. Baha! Yes indeed, cue laughter. No. That is crap. I have been working mostly, editing, coaxing, encouraging, mothering, you know all the shit that publishers and editors do. I created Revenge Ink. And like all viciously loyal mothers, serial killer or not, I will love my dead-dog-ugly offspring to the bitter end.

But yes, I have also been writing. In spits and spurts. A few stories. Trying. A paragraph here and there, on a thread of biled hatred or anger or just plain whiskey venom. There are days you get barf sick of people, stupid wretched fucked-up human beings, no matter how beautiful and perfect, and you need and will have, only yourself, the word and any brain-numbing liquid you can find. The more expensive, the better. I admire Bukowski. But I am a woman when it comes to liquor, I will only drink the best. And I will drink it in the right kind of glass, clean too. Spotless. Bourgogne if you please, and a damn good whisk(e)y. No cheap stuff for yours truly, no matter how hard it gets to pay the bills.

But there will be NO BITTER END. Not here folks. If you want to see someone give up and go all reasonable, savvy and whatnot, move on, find a sadder story somewhere else. Not here. I have been reading all your submissions, you wonderful sick isolated talented freaks, and I am loving them all. Well not all, obviously. Some will be rejected, only because I am a human being and will have my dislikes and likes. But I am damn proud of what I’ve been reading. It has whetted my deadened appetite for destruction, rebellion and shocking the bubon’d body public. It has inspired me back to some sort of love for life and myself. Because I have to say. I am feeling a great deal of self-love right now. You know, for creating this here refuge for the furiously talented. And the furious tout court. And that is the only true kind of love there is. The Hindu goddess is a monument to self-love. Without her absolute self-love there is no universe. The Hindu universe is not about love shared by two reasonable money-saving cocks in a happy suburb, it is about ruling the universe on your own because the source of all things is you, inside and outside, the disgusting with the divine. There is no other truth than this, no other indeed.

Right, back to the grindstone. Thought I’d reach out to you all. Since it’s been a while. And you have been loyal and caring. The world is a-changing folks. You’d better find a good reason for living soon, if what you have right now is only money. If it is. And you don’t find anything better, you’re fucked. You heard it here first!

TCHINN fecking TCHINN TCHINN!

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now that all that steve jobs bollocks is over, here’s my thought for the day: i have well nigh a billion times more respect for a drunken pissing bum in the street than a billionaire who spouts crap about buddhism & living your dream. living your dream has NOTHING to do with success. it has EVERYTHING to do with living on the barbaric jagged edge of your own quiet volition. the real buddhism in THAT story is: billions in the bank will NOT stave off death and disease, so clearly mateys. money IS NOT where it’s at!

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June 2001. I’m in New York interpreting for a French minister of state who keeps getting personal stuff done with public money. and keeps staring at my (very fit, at the time) knees in my Chanel skirt suit (groan). me i’m just always making eyes at the hot hunky puerto rican dudes on the street corners. that’s democracy for you. a suite at the waldorf, work with a brainless c*nt and hot puerto rican dudes. (you heard it here first etc.)

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obama let troy davis die. brazil’s lefty woman prez sanctions a big canal that’ll destroy more land and people. only proves it isn’t who you are. color gender bollocks. it’s where your heart is. that’s what will do it everytime. either you’re a rebel or you’re not. and how do you know? it’s based on what you’re willing to give up. that’s what it’s about. never anything else.  cheers!

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Up after 3 hours of sleep again… burnout? come on in, it will have been just a few weeks since we last met… coffee, tea, whiskey, moi?

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i can now calculate spine width based on paper types, i know when to release what kind of book, i know what makes a book good or not, where to print in the world and how much, i know marketing (what works what doesn’t, otherwise marketing evolves with the times and your own experience and product), i know how to edit AND i know how to manage authors (whew). and yes, i also write sometimes. i may not be a millionaire yet, but i’m damn proud of what i’ve learned in just 3 years. if you want to live life on your terms entirely, i absolutely recommend it. just negotiate your overdraft before you do (or your overgale, as mine tends to be… get it? draught? gale?).

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wow. so THIS is what it feels like to write… damn authors. i feel like an old peasant mamma with hair on her chin who recalls what it was like to fall in love… (meanwhile the old fart upstairs pisses into his bowl with G-force, like he’s climbed up on a chair to do it, oh to stifle him in his sleep).

To write! the creativity, the thrill, the rampant unchecked (but entirely private) hostility i start to feel when i write… Bliss!

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there are times when all you have is the present moment, and it is bliss that you can ride it right past the eiffel tower and have the bd st germain open up to you in a series of whorish green lights. ah paris, ma belle salope! if i didn’t have you, i’d have nothing.

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Here’s my contribution to the ‘repost’ facebook disease which I truly do not comprehend: except mine’s a true story…

when I was twelve and got to my London middle school, the first friend I made (beyond the two BFF girls who adopted me right away) was a boy… his name was Lee, he was new like me, sat next to me, he was cute, but wouldn’t look at me. then another boy farted. or so Lee and I thought. And just like that, as we looked at each other and giggled, our friendship was born. Repost if flatulence has changed your life in any deep and personal way… (sigh)

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