There are ten men in me and I do not know or understand one of them.
- Carl Sandburg

HELLO MY NAME IS: who cares what my name is? you need a name? fine. it's kevin. now, for the love of sweet baby jesus, if you see the girl have her bring me another double scotch neat.

An actual picture of me, no bullshit.

An actual picture of me, no bullshit.
1978-79 or so. I'm wearing straight legged pants so it's after I'd gone punk. I like the "KGB Surveilance Photo" aspect.

Saturday, January 30, 2010


You know how fashion designers every few years come out with something like "Green, it's the new Black" And some other designer will reply, "Black is the new new black" But like, in a really snotty way? The point is, that what they meant when they said "brown is the new black" is that it's what everyone would be wearing. And that's what I mean when I say: Poor. It's the new Black.

Poor, it's the new Black.
Don't call me a racist.
I checked with numerous
Friends and associates.
All people of color. They
Said, almost every one,
"That sounds about right."
Those who didn't agree
Outright, all said "Poor?
That's the new black?
Funny, that was the
old black too.
Ya dumb ass white
Or similar words.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

JD Salinger

One of my heroes died today.

Charity and Compassion

Listening to christians bitch about helping the poor and dispossessed is like listening to Jews trade pork recipes.

You people have two jobs. Two. Two jobs on this earth. Practice compassion towards the less fortunate and spread the Good Word. Near as I can tell you traded those two jobs for radical conservative politics and avarice. Sorry, that's redundant. What's one word to adequately describe both? Oh I got it.


You selfish fuckers better hope I'm right when I say there's no such thing as Hell.

Fuck You.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Got another

Got another facebook friend that ummm...qualifies. That's seven. My average is staying above 10%. Which I find vaguely disturbing.

Sunday, January 24, 2010


I've always been an ass man.
Then for a long time, a leg man.
A breast man? Don't play the fool.
Lickable, suckable, squeezable,
Carressable. Boobs make me smile.
I kept exploring and discovered the
Best part of a woman that can exist...
The part between her ears.

And between her legs...
I'm not made out of fucking wood over here.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Bottom Line

The whole fucking world has been pretty lucky when it comes to me. Because I've definately given a fuckload more than I ever took. Fucking world better count their blessings. I'm actually significantly more skilled at taking. It requires a supreme effort of will to keep giving. Taking is like falling off a log.

Just getting tired...

Tired of phone calls, tired of bad news, tired of crush injuries and and amputations in the street. Gettin real tired.

Monday, January 18, 2010


The key element to a movement that practices non-violence is the idea that we can shame those who would do us harm into stopping. That the reason they stop is because they can't bear to look at themselves while brushing their teeth. That human decency will force them to stop.

As near as I can tell, most of my enemies have no shame, even fewer have a shred of decency. If they ever had any sense or shame. other than the destructive type that clergymen hand out like candy, it was driven from them as children.

So...Am I supposed to just lay down and watch my deeply held values trampled under the feet of imbeciles? Is it reasonable for me, a man of letters, a man dedicated to making the world better, a man with a a temper, a man with training..to take up the banner that demands "Don't Tread On Me." ? Or shall I just putter along and watch these fascists destroy everything my grandparents and their grandparents worked so hard to build?

No. That's the least likely way this ends. If the ultra-right thinks they are the only scary motherfuckers out there contemplating direct action...well good. Let em believe that. That way we maybe catch em leanin the wrong way when the time comes.

So let me get this straight...

I'm a better parent than my parents were.
I'm a better citizen than most citizens.
I'm a better friend than all but one or two of my friends, maybe.
I've spent my life trying to make things better for people.
I teach people how to save lives.
I try to make people smile whenever I can.
I give away most of my time to charity.
I've fought for every single victory I have or have ever had.

And I owe whom? For what?

Humanity has earned something besides my contempt? What would that be? Mercy? Forgiveness? Sure okay, about as much as I've been shown, that's how much they've earned. I hope thay aren't expecting much.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

And besides...

What fucking difference is it going to make even if we get there?

I mean seriously...

How fucking much is enough?

Saturday, January 16, 2010


What am I doing for Haiti? Talking on the phone mostly. A bit of ad copy when we need it. It sucks ass but that's the job that needs to be done.

So...Other than that I'm just trying real hard to keep from going under.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

I cried.

I cried because I had no shoes
Until I saw a man who had no feet
Then I ran into another guy with
Six hundred dollar python skin boots.
So I sobbed my quinty little eyes out.

That's the greatest lie ever told.
That my happiness is in another's hands
Because even when I saw the guy with
No feet, I thought "I bet his feet feel
Better than mine do right now. "

It's not a contest. It's not a race.
It is simply moving from one simple
moment to the next as best you can.
If it was a contest or race, it wouldn't matter
You'd be the only competitor.

There is nothing to master in life
But one's self. There is no devil
But the ones within. Maybe it's a
Game. Perhaps a journey or a lesson.
Or random molecules moving from collision to collision.

If it's a game, it's a game you can't lose.
A trek? wherever you stop, there you'll be.
If it's a lesson, I think we all get A's if we participate.
And if it's realy just wads of matter smashing together?
Be careful you don't get yourself killed.

Friday, January 8, 2010


I have this major thing for redheads. Always have. Dated blonds for a long time. Dated latinas for a while. I can remember when I thought dark haired women were exotic. Dated a couple Sisters. That's a whole other post. But I always came back to redheads. I just, dig redheads. And I've had my share. Invariably, the question is asked by some crude nonredhead chaser, "Do the curtains match the carpets?" The correct answer is, "Mind your business before I jam your fuckin head through that window." But in truth, in nearly all cases, in my personal experience is, and this is completely anectodal but very well reseached in the field. The truth is:

"Yeah well it's mostly hardwood. There is, however, a small but quite expensive, nicely arranged little rug there. And yeah. It fucking matches the drapes.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Ronald on My Mind

I was living in Portland, up in the NE, driving cab and getting laid full time. I had a roomate. An Irishman from Pittsburgh named Jimmy. And a brother from LA, a musician. Forgot his name. Leon, I think, maybe...who cares now. Me and Jimmy worked together for a long time and he had a room and I was sleeping...wherever. So I moved in. Me and Jimmy were the only two white men in the neighborhood. A couple of lesbians lived across the street but that's as diverse as our neighborhood got. I knew a white bookie, lived about eight blocks away. Well...that's the NE.

So we go to this Fred Meyers one day. Jimmy needs some bullshit. I'm riding along. There's a McDonalds in the place so I go for a snack. Jimmy's trying on, who cares...gayest fucking straight man I ever met. Gaydar is off the charts. Totally het. But fuck him anyway. He once called me the stupidest genius he'd ever met so, paybacks muhfuckuh. Back to the story.

There's a bench there with a life size statue of Ronald McDonald that you can sit on. I sat down to eat...And the bench moved. Odd. I leaned back. It didn't seem to be attached to anything except gravity. Now, those of you without sin cast the first stone. But...I stood just a little and attempted to suruptuousley gauged the weight. It wasn't light, but it wasn't that heavy either. And we had an SUV in the parking lot. Oh and the best part. It was about...maybe 30 feet from the door. I look around. I don't see any cameras. None that would matter. Terry shows up. I lean back in the bench. He looks down.
"Is that thing not bolted to the floor?"
"Whadaya figure it weighs?"
"Not too much"
I smile
He smiles
"You know how fucking shit cool that would look in the front room?"
"Funny I was thinking the same."
We look around. This is gonna take seconds literally.
"Okay dude, back the Explorer right up to the door. Jump out."
He finished for me "Grab this fucker and go."

He went out, I waited pretended to still be eating, waiting for him to pull up, waiting where the fuck is he? I'm waiting for the Explorer to appear. In walks Jimmy. He tilts his head. Not tonight we ain't lifting this piece of coolness. Come on brah, you're talking to the man who once shoplifted a canoe. Nope says his face. I follow him out after a few minutes. Hop in.

"What the fuck chuck? "
"You know, not 15 minutes ago I used a a credit card to purchase goods in that store? "
"Was it under your name?"
"Yes it was."
"Well...we can't steal that thing then."

And I don't know who started talking first but it went something like this.

"Okay that place is open late"
"I disagree, that's when their watching closest"
"Good point okay so, middle of the day"
"Take the plates off the Explorer, or even better, borrow Corrine's van and take the plates off"
"Then we snatch it and run"
"Oh fuck man, we get coveralls and pick it up like it's our job. "
"Fucking perfect. How soon?"
"Next week too soon?"
"No, that should be good."

But we didn't that week. Shit was going on, or the next week. And then months blend together and it becomes something we're gonna get drunk and do some time. But sometime never came. I moved out. Back down to my old neighborhood, Felony Flats. Yeah and if you know Portland you know I ain't lying. I kept on driving cab, straightening up and flying right. Which, if you've ever hacked you know there is nothing straight or right about it. It's like being a cowboy. With girls. Few months later the DEA kicked in Jimmy's door over some misunderstanding. They questioned me for about 15 minutes. The whole fucking place was bugged the whole time we all lived there. They knew Jimmy did this all on his own. I knew nothing about it. The cops knew everything about everything. So if you were fucking me during that time. Ummmmm...The feds got it all on tape. Oops.

I moved on to my next personal paradigm. Jimmy got 25 years in federal prison for drug trafficking. Plus...No Ronald McDonald.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Fuckin Pigs

So I'm in fucking court one day and I have my little sit-down with my counselor and I asked her if she thought the cops were actively surveiling me. And she said yes. Yes they were.

I shrugged "Okay but besides what they normally do?"

"They're opening your mail"

"Yeah, like besides opening my mail."

"I don't really know what their priorities are."

"Well, what's your professional opinion? You are my fucking lawyer."

"Probably yes. I sure as hell would be. "

Fuck man. There are good points and bad points to having an ex-cop as your defense attorney. But there isn't much that sucks worse than having cops following you around. It's like your worst college professor ever, teaching a class that never ends, with the right to open fire if you answer any of the questions wrong enough.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Kim's Poem

For her birthday.

Your heart seems worried
Afraid the years pass too fast
Patience, my love. It took a
Mighty long way, finding you.

It took me longer to find you
Than the Israelites wandered
I expect to be loving you for a
Damn sight longer than that.

Sunday, January 3, 2010


Okay, I'm practicing this so if I fuck it up...well I'll delete it so that makes this whole line of thoug...

I've never had a brother. Two sisters. And most of the families around me, to this day, mostly just have sisters. My own family, all girls. My wife's family, mostly girls. I have had three male first cousins, ever. It's weird. My two best friends? No brothers. Both had sisters. My sisters had what seemed like dozens of friends that only had sisters. When I was a kid my grandparents lived next door to a family with four sisters.

I've spent my life in a sorority.

A Top 20 List for 2009

The Top 20 Things My Wife Said To Me In 2009*
*In order of frequency
1. "Do you have my lighter?"
2. "Give me back my lighter."
3. "You stole my lighter again, didn't you?"
4. "I love you"
5. Upon walking into my office..."GIVE ME MY FUCKING LIGHTER!"
6. "Go write something."
7. "No no no. I did not say tell me what you're going to write I said go write it."
8. "I'll take care of it."
9. "You should take care of that."
10. "Goddamn, you're good in bed." Okay that's not really 10 in order of frequency but it moved up a bunch of spaces because of sheer ego and intensity.
11. "Lower your voice."
12. "What?"
13. "Ummmm. Lighter...I swear to god Michael, you're like a fucking klepto or something. Lighters just find their way into your pocket like the One Ring don't they? You need help."
14. "Let me help you with that."
15. "Help me with this."
16. "Our daughter needs our help"
17. "We need to talk to our daughter."
19. "You are the biggest lighter thief I've ever met."
20. "I still love you anyway."

Saturday, January 2, 2010

I'm just sayin...

They should take all that bonus money that they gave to the bankers and the insurers and all the rest of those ticks and give it to whoever designed the Mars Rovers. And chicks. Or dudes. Must be some women on the team. Or gay men. Whatever. Hotties of whatever variety is preferred. Because, let's face it. These people who designed this thing probably don't get laid much. And the money. All the bonus money, tax free and all the mad sweaty love they want. Forever. That should be their reward for designing the Mars Rovers.

More Facebook

Holy sheep shit! I got 50...that's five oh bebe, friends on Facebook. Which is wild because that's like, in round numbers, probably 46 or 47 more friends than I had in high school. Facebook is a little like a never ending high school reunion. I look around. I see these vaguely familiar faces and names. People talk to me, about things I remember doing, but I have no clue who they are. I break out my year book. Still no clue. Then I realize, I already know where the chowderheads I ran with in high school are. In Auburn, Georgetown, LA, Portland, Texas. No great fuckin mystery there. I want to chat up any of these jokers, I call em up. Fuck it. They'd all appear in court on Monday to testify, under oath, that I was playing cards at his house all weekend. Who's house? Pick one. Which weekend? Whatever one you're asking about.

This is different. These are a whole new set of people. We have something in common. We went to school together. Other than that, it's a whole new crowd, a whole new scene. Just with a weird hazy historical twist. And the lines don't run straight. Some of those I remember vividly became my friends once more. Like my sister's friend. I used to sit behind her, intentionally, in my sister's Mustang, because I could smell her hair. It was that long blond hair that only real California chicks have. Sorry if that came off as creepy. I was only 14 or 15 at the time. Or her sister. Who I remember from Journalism and about six semesters of English. I remember her being very polite, pretty but way way way too smart for me. A girl had to be pretty stupid to date me in high school. And she wasn't stupid. Still isn't. Still pretty too. Also I was secretly in love with her sister so...there was that. Then there were others I knew who I thought I knew. But who simply ignored or rejected my friend request. That was strange.

But some of the most interesting have been the friends I have made, of whom I have little or no recollection. I made friends with some people that hung out up at the art building. I was down at the wall. Well, hey, that's where a lot of stupid girls were. And it's where the dope was. I liked girls and I liked dope so I liked the Wall. Then there are others, who I should know. And I have no clue. One of them is a great FB friend to me. We have great conversations. She remembers me. But, I'm sorry Counselor. My mind lost your place in my history. That's when I understood. Why was I meeting all these really smart ladies on FB, with whom I had gone to school, but didn't know? It's the stupid thing. When I was in high school I had very few redeeming qualities, generally speaking. And the ones I had, weren't especially endearing. Like I said earlier. You had to be pretty dumb to want to go out with me when I was 17. And I didn't have girls who were friends. I had girls I thought I could fuck and ones I didn't. Again...Less of a young gentleman vibe and more of a don't-touch-me vibe. I been cultured since then. Been to charm school and shit like that. I grew up. Grew up some, anyway. I also now have many many friends of the female gender that I am not trying to fuck. Besides, I ain't trying to sleep with nobody. I'm succeeding at sleeping with exactly the one lady I want to be sleeping with. Another thing you get, that's weird, is ex-lovers. I have an even half dozen now. Poke Amanda. Poke Elizabeth. Believe me, if I was not married And I am married, happily, faithfully and forever...But if I wasn't, fuck yeah...I'd poke Amanda. You know what's funny? That website Funny things My Husband Says. If I was going to do Funny Things My Wife said it'd include "If that little whore puts her hands on you again I'm gonna fucking cut em off." And she meant it. She fucking meant it. God I love that woman!

So it's got this semi-reunion vibe but with much bigger and more detailed nametags. The best nametag I ever had was when I went to a radio convention in Vegas. Right before I left the Business. And when I say the Business, I mean the Industry. Anyway...My nametag was



Pretty cool huh? Yeah you non religion expert types out there don't know what that means. Do you? It's from da Bible. Jesus asked a demon it's name and the demon replied "Our name is Legion for we are many." Way cool fucking line. And a vaguely hell-worthy joke about the satanic nature of mass media.

But what most nametags, at least the ones I wear, really should say is:

who da fuck cares what my name is
you need a name? fine it's kevin
Listen if you see the girl would you
please for the love of sweet baby
jesus have her bring me another
double scotch, neat.

Friday, January 1, 2010

I Repent

I said fuck Idaho and...Maybe not totally fuck Idaho so I give you

The Top Ten Cool Things About Idaho

1. It was the last of the 50 States to be entered by disease bearing Europeans.
2. The skiing and snowboarding there are beyond killer. And not just Sun Valley. Or Bogus Basin. The same snow that falls on Park City falls on Grand Targhee. And Pebble Creek. Pomerelle. Good snow in Idaho.
3. They really do grow good potatoes there.
4. William Clark wrote, regarding Idaho "Nothing but high rugged mountains as far as the eye can see in every direction." That's pretty cool.
5. Ahhhh Geeze I already did the state Motto thing. But yeah, cool motto.
6. Evel Knievel failed to jump the Snake River Canyon near Twin Falls Idaho.
7. They eventually ran all the Nazis out of Hayden Lake.
8. Part of Yellowstone is in Idaho.
9. Craters of the Moon National Monument is a total trip.
10. Man, ya know...that's all I got. Oh wait! I thought up one more. Boise State's football field is blue.

Writing drove me mad

This is occurring to me as I write it down. The though occurred to me once before but I dismissed it. I think I was too hasty. I think writing drove me mad. It wasn't the act of writing, you see. Rather, the subject matter. The subject matter. It's the only thing written that is almost universally scorned. It's the only literature that the most PC person on the fucking planet would not hesitate to destroy. And there's a reason for that. Because the subject matter is evil. And we all know it, whether we want to admit it or not. We all know it. And that's why we hate it. It manipulates us and causes us to behave in ways that are counter-productive to our goals. It can make us jump and dance on strings like soap purchasing marionettes. You know the subject matter I mean.

If you want to understand, truly understand the human condition, you shouldn't ask a psychologist, nor a sociologist, nor an anthropologist, nor an artist, nor a pollster (but you're getting warmer), nor a priest, nor a Zen Master. No, those folks will give you some good information on demographics, learning theory, brain chemistry, instinctual behavior. They'll get you the words, music and the images you need to stimulate those little neuroreceptors that drive those behaviors. But none of those people really put it all together. I mean ALL together. No, there was a different bunch that put de Lime in de Coconut.

Advertisers. They can make you do anything they want. I know many if not most of you will object, standing to shout "Not ME! I'm different!" Yes you. And you aren't nearly as different as you think you are. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news if you did not already know this. This may very well be the ravings of a lunatic. But that doesn't make it untrue. The Advertising Industry can make you do anything they want. And I worked for them long enough to see it. If you don't believe me, read some history. Perhaps I'll write one if it doesn't already exist. Yes, you. They control you. And me. I got this whole other problem though.

I wrote advertising. A lot of advertising. Because I'm pretty good at it. And when I need money...People ask me what's the most famous thing I ever wrote. A lawnmower commercial. I got 1500 bucks green money for it. I remember thinking Hmmm green money for green lawnmowers. Neato. Second was a dog food spot. Get it? Spot...I was on salary so, who the fuck knows what I got paid for that. A thousand a week if I remember correctly. Third one was for a landfill. I heard that old piece of shit last week.

Well...I can be pretty distant emotionally when I want or need to be. And I got kids to feed. I can do the job when the job needs done. But I'm not some fucking sociopath. I couldn't go on indefinitely making money doing something I considered evil. And it is. Evil. Two reasons. First, it controls you. In many cases, without your knowledge or consent. That's essentially unethical. Secondly, they will use it on you in any way they find possible, for any reason desired. And that is also prima facie evil. There is no ethic other than effectiveness. And it is always for sale to the highest bidder, regardless of who that bidder may be or what their goals are.

I've been pretty unstable my whole life. So there is that. But after that gig. I was a true madman. A stark raving lunatic for a while. Several whiles, in fact. And sometimes still. Granted, I've been through some pretty harrowing shit during my years in this mortal coil. All harrowing shit on this blog is complete fiction. Utter flights of my over-active imagination. Just like to throw that in from time to time. Anyway....Oh Yeah, Harrowing Shit. I've been through way more than my share, and none of that drove me over the edge. But working for the advertising industry did.

Snow Removal

The following piece has nothing at all to do with new years day, I wrote it a few days ago in Idaho. Fuck Idaho. The only cool thing about Idaho is it's motto "Esta Perpetua" She Goes on Forever.

It's bitter cold here, twenty below
I heard some truck driver say
Breathing itself is more difficult
In the thin air the simple act of
Survival presents a higher bar.

Heaps of snow are everywhere
Great mountains of it, all dirty
Once pure and white, the stuff
Of greeting cards, now piled up
Like ex-lovers on a friends list.