This Fckin' Blog

Scrape It was bound to fucking happen And it was all my fucking fault And I feel pretty fucking bad about it And I still want to do something about it if I fucking can Or maybe I should fucking let it go. But anyway... So, I'm riding down Broadway, on my way to work (Yes, of course this is another fucking Citibike story), And I get to one of those really narrow fucking sections Where the motherfuckers are doing all this fucking construction So there's only one fucking lane, And there's this cab in the middle of the motherfucking lane, But then it moves the fuck off to the right, Which looks good for me, because I'm on the left, But then it fucking inches back, I think, Or maybe it fucking didn't--maybe I just never had enough fucking room, I don't fucking know. But I hit the brakes,  But I still fucking pass him And in so fucking doing, The fucking handlebar of the motherfucking bike Scrapes across both doors of the motherfucking...

Death [rev.] Considering how fucking old I am I have not experienced a shitload Of pull-your-heart-out-of-your-chest- And-kick-your-fuckikng-ass-from-here-to- I-don't-fuckking-know-where-the-fuck-kinda-deaths. Some. One already this year. But not all that fucking many. But I'm about to. I'm fucking about to. I'm about to experience another fucking one. And I've never, ever, ever in my entire fucking life, Been able to even fucking, fucking try To tell someone who was about to fucking die How much I love them How much they fucking mean How much..I don't fucking know How much fucking everything. But I did. I fucking did. I fucking tried. I fucking tried, at fucking least. I fucking tried. By way of fucking background When we fucking lived together Susannah Fucking Ryan taught me fucking mountains of shit Including a shitload of mystical shit She designed and fucking executed the fantastic fucking record cover For the King Missile album "Mystical Shit" ...

Bag As I rode in this morning, On a fucking Citibike, of course--what the fuck else? I saw this on a fucking tote bag that a woman was carrying: NOW IS BETTER (I think that's what it said - Her fucking arm was obscuring part of the fucking bag). Now, There can be some wisdom in motherfucking tote bags Like the one with that John Waters quote: "If you go home with somebody, And they don't have books, Don't fuck them." That's pretty fucking wise. And maybe this fucking tote bag I saw this morning Has some fucking wisdom to impart But at first fucking blush, I was like Yes--for me, now is better. But it sure isn't fucking better for everybody. And if I had seen that shit a couple of fucking weeks ago, Or even, say, Monday fucking morning , I would have been like, How the fuck is now better? Now fucking sucks. And how about those motherfuckers with Ebola? Or even all those motherfuckers Who are fucking worried about catching Ebola...

Death Considering how fucking old I am I have not experienced a shitload Of pull-your-heart-out-of-your-chest- And-kick-your-fuckikng-ass-from-here-to- I-don't-fuckking-know-where-the-fuck-kinda-deaths. Some. One already this year. But not all that fucking many. But I'm about to. I'm fucking about to. I'm about to experience another fucking one. And I've never, ever, ever in my entire fucking life, Been able to even fucking, fucking try To tell someone who was about to fucking die How much I love them How much they fucking mean How much..I don't fucking know How much fucking everything. But today I fucking did. I fucking tried. I fucking tried, at fucking least. I fucking tried. I spoke with her on the phone this morning And heard her beautiful fucking voice Like it wasn't 25 fucking years ago Like it was fucking last week or yesterday Or some fucking shit. To fucking cry And fucking think, About someone you fucking love so fucking much, I can't belie...

Proof I am fucking aware That at least once, and maybe more than once I have asked, rhetorically, "What the fuck do I have to fucking prove?" But clearly, I was being fucking disingenuous. Because when I was watching NY1 this morning (Yes, I  still fucking subscribe To Time Warner Motherfucking Cable. Yes, I'm a fucking sucker. Fuck you.), And when the fucking story came on About the motherfuckers citibiking into work this morning In the goddamn heavy motherfucking rain, I was like "Fuck you. It's on." I was already fucking smarting ("Smarting?" What the fuck kind of word is "smarting"?) From having someone sing " Wuss " to me last night Because I wouldn't take a bike home From Carnegie Fucking Hall. Which, for the fucking record, Would have been a fucking disaster: I got soaked just walking three fucking blocks From the fucking Broadway/Lafayette F train fucking station, Even though I fucking had...

Peace This fucking morning Was fucking beautiful, and As I walked toward the motherfucking Citibike fucking station For my first motherfucking bike ride Since fucking last Thursday, I saw a motherfucking squirrel climb up a tree: The fucking light breaking Through the motherfucking clouds The fucking smell of Autumn in New York: God damn motherfucking fuck, There fucking are no motherfucking words. The motherfucking feeling of timelessness And fucking ecstasy and fucking oneness And fucking nothingness That fucking feeling of being there And not fucking being there And being fucking everywhere at once And fucking nowhere In the same fucking instant, In that single motherfucking timeless moment Of Peace. Motherfucking peace: Not wanting fucking anything Not needing to fucking know anything Just fucking feeling, being/not being, Knowing that the fucking moment will pass But even being fucking fine with that I stood there and watched the fucking squir...

Mic So a couple of fucking hours ago On my way to run some fucking errand I pass by a sign that says "Open mic tonight," And I'm like, are you fucking kidding me? So I walk in and I ask how fucking long it goes until And the woman at the door say "10," And I'm like, ok, I'll fucking come back, then. I'm thinking I can read some of my fucking poems That I'm going to read In fucking Los Angeles on fucking Friday, Saturday and motherfucking Sunday. But it takes fucking forever for me to finish All of my fucking shit, And I don't get back to the fucking place Until like nine fucking thirty. And I figure no fucking way Am I going to be able To sign up for this fucking mic. I order a fucking sparkling water I fucking love sparkling water - This one's called Bolle, And it's pretty fucking good. And like three fucking minutes later, The host, Eve, she fucking says,  "ok, we have a fucking open slot. The first...

Flat I took out a fucking Citibike this morning As I am fucking wont to do I save so much fucking money riding these motherfuckers, For one fucking thing. But for another fucking thing, I like riding a motherfucking bike to work I really fucking like it. But I start riding this fucking bike And I realize it must have A motherfucking flat But I'm figuring it can't be that bad of a flat Because it hadn't fucking been reported broken Which is an easy motherfucking thing to do: You just press a motherfucking button When you return the motherfucker. So I start riding, south on Mercer, As I'm wont to do, And yeah, the bike's a little fucking wobbly And a bit hard to fucking pedal But it seems fucking manageable. I could have just fucking returned it, But if you return a Citibike Even a fucking a broken one You have to wait two fucking minutes Before you can take out another one So I was like, fuck that shit, I can fucking do this. Because I...

Flies Ok, so I was just walking out of the fucking garden And on the ledge outside the fucking pediatrician's window Two fucking flies were fucking This was not like that time with the squirrels I mean, it's the same sexual position (Which, now that I think about it: so many fucking Non-human animals fuck like that all the fucking time (Not to mention human animals, who also fuck like that sometimes), So why is it fucking called doggy style? Is what I'd fucking like to fucking know.) So, it's the same fucking sex position But very different fucking methodology (From the fucking squirrels, I mean.) These flies looked like They weren't fucking moving at all Can a fly's dick just pump in and out Without the fly moving his hips at all, or what? Do flies even fucking have hips? I don't know why I'm wondering When I can just look that shit up Which maybe I fucking will In a moment or fucking two But I'm fucking recalling The la...

Doc I don't watch a whole fucking lot of documentary films. My reasons are mostly fucking stupid, so I won't go into them. But let me fucking say this: Martin Fucking Scorsese Is one of the most underated fucking documentary filmmakers alive. We can start with "The Last Fucking Waltz," And mention "Italian Americans" And then there's the fucking George Harrison one And the Bob Dylan fucking one And, although I haven't seen it, He made one about Fran Fucking Lebowitz, for fuck's sake. I mean, come on, right? So, okay, last month, I found out he just did one About my favorite fucking magazine (Or paper, or journal, or whatever you fucking want to call it): The New York Fucking Review of Fucking Books This fucking film is called "The 50 Year Argument" And I fucking watched it last fucking night And I fucking loved it I fucking loved it It's got fucking James Baldwin in it And Susan Fucking Sontag And fuckin...