Jail. Sure. Even though my apartment’s a mess it’s like walking into Mother’s arms. I look at the dissected newspaper everywhere, the toys, the dishes everywhere. Home. I go through the ordeal of discovering what time it is. I hate clocks and have to turn the tv on to the info channel. Takes seconds. My alarm clock gets unplugged and stays that way till I go to bed again. I walk through my apartment stepping over and around toys, clothes, books, dishes everywhere to my son’s room and the only window that faces the parking lot. No cops. Of course–they just let me out. Still, I wonder when... 

I’ve been wanting to get me one of those fancy new DVD players everyone’s got now, even my friend Darnell and he’s dirt poor and lives in a motel room. He calls it an “efficiency apartment” but I know a motel room when I see one. His shower don’t even work and he has to soak in the tub like a woman so I don’t even see what’s so efficient about it anyway. It took me about 8 months of saving change in my pickle jar but I finally got one. I probably could’ve got one sooner if I didn’t keep on raiding my stash for 30-packs of Keystone Light, but beer is perfect for watching the... 

My friend Benny Woo’s pop has a real flat dick and has to eat those boner pills called Viagra all the time so he can bang his new girlfriend Tina. I never met her but I guess she’s like 25 and a hellcat in the sack. Benny says she’s one hot chick with massive gazungas and an upside down heart for an ass. …………“I’m hoping she gets to be my step mom real soon,” he told me, a faraway look in his eyes. …………Benny’s pop is like 55 but he’s loaded and drives around in a Vette so I’m not surprised he snagged such a fine specimen of femininity. Hot ass is one of the many... 

I laugh yet, that I might not cry My inward-singing lullaby Whose worth, though trite, I choose to be A sponge upon my misery But woe, the deaf, the blind, the dumb Who was, and is, and is to come Yet not they know, and nor his grace Who look not up, upon his face And yet, beside these quiet waters Truly sons, and truly daughters Witches come, and queens yet gone This not to whet their job yet done And yet they sing, and yet they dance Yet not they know, this true romance  Read More →

I am become death the destroy of worlds. Know this-that you will one day die! Know this too-that every second more that you live, is a second more that you steal from me. I am the darkness that descends upon you, the insidious creeping that you cannot stop… …The man on the table looks up, staring at the light… I am the fountain that springs eternal from the human soul. I am the hope for a better tomorrow and yet more; I am the hope that there will be life after this one, that work in this life may lead to peace in the next. Know this-that your worship of me will result in you living forever.... 

They say that artists suffer for their art, and that once an artist is dead their art appreciates in value.  Well, crack addicts die for their art to even exist. What you see here will never grace the walls of the Louvre in Paris, or the Metropolitan Gallery of Art. What you see below is “crack art” drawn or painted not on expensive canvases, but on the feces, blood, and urine stained walls of dozens of crack dens. Rest assured, most of these artists are in fact dead or dying; they’ve paid your admission fee to this art gallery with their lives. What I am showcasing here is a... 

Rudra. One who has learned the way of the Buddha, but is still egotistical and materialistic. Is that what I’ve become? I’m not quite sure, and I’m not quite sure whether that disturbs me. Or rather, I’m quite sure that it disturbs me, but I’m not sure why. I need time to meditate, but every time I do, the same question echoes in my mind; So what will you choose; money or love?   Gotta be money. Your money, man. Money. What does that mean? You’re a sure thing; betting on you is like money in the bank. You have to be money. Be cool. Be smooth. Its what everyone is, or at least, what...