EMERGENCY POST of TRUTH

Anyone who refers to New York as NYC in print and especially in speech is not from New York. Moreover, anyone who refers to the City as such in attempt to terminologically attach oneself to the City is a fucking idiot.
--rb, Waterville, Maine

Wish List, 9.29.04, 8:11pm, Live From Tiny One-Bed Room at the Mount Blue Motel on Route 4 in Farmington, Maine

• That one of the two elderly ladies at the next table at tonight's dinner hadn't said, "The doctor said his prostate is normal for someone his age."
• That from now on I only temporarily fall in love with girls who temporarily fall in love with me for 12 hours instead of 36.
• A secretary or three. For work purposes only.
• That I had brought my telecaster with me so I could be writing new music, too.
• The Edgar Winters catalog. All the bands Phil Erner told me about in college I like now. Fuck!

Duke, We Mourn Thee

Hi from the Ramada Maine in Lewiston. As if driving from Vancouver to New York in June weren't enough, they've let me loose to roam Maine and New Brunswick for nine days. Driving up in hurricane fog was a pain in the ass, and the map I just purchased didn't note that 495 is now 95 and 95 is 295 and whatever was 295 is some other 95. Good thing the staff of the 24-hour Burger King at the GRAY SERVICE AREA in Gray, ME knew that. Actually, two of them seemed to only speak Swedish-English, and one actually knew where she was. Amazing. And a phantom cheeseburger has been burning a hole in my throat for about two hours now. Lewiston public TV informs us that Duke, the town's "beloved K-9" officer of five years, has passed on. A literal fog of sadness enshrouds this Ramada. The lounge--Dudley's--closes at midnight, but I have more than a little paperwork to do, so it looks like I won't be drinking myself to death tonight. Should have brought my trusty/fuckin' bottle of bourbon.

a great place to be right now

One more post before I leave, 4 hours late, for my business roadtrip to Maine and Canada. I'd love to be driving around Waterbury, Connecticut on a rainy Tuesday evening, with a non-female friend, listening to the album You'd Prefer an Astronaut by Hum.

hotnesses of worcester

from meag: http://www.worcestermag.com/current/cover.shtml. ten bucks to anyone who can write a 500 word story about all these people. and check out the art cinema bartender...maybe she'd make a good next 8-hour girlfriend. i'd give her 12 hours if she was into the whole film noir thing.

eight hour dating

darlings come and darlings go

b+w

Figured I'd share the TK cover art I did.

For "Sticks and Rocks and Stars"

[front] [back]

For Proclivities:

[front] [back]

fkn h0tt. it'd be nicer if you liked me.

oh! darling

I am safe to say that I got several more cylinders firing in the past two days. The words in the previous sentence are properly chosen and ordered. Weekend was better than usual (...)/(see Shaun of the Dead), but today even more interesting things happened. I ran into two of my favorite writing professors, who told me about some fairly interesting and well-regarded summer/winter MFA programs for "working people." I never thought that I would think about such a thing but I thought about that today.

I just sent in cover art for Proclivities, my grind poetry thing that Dan and I will eventually xerox-publish as Cada 2. Speaking of images, I have amassed over 4,000 digital photographs over the past three years. 14-17 of them are probably Art, and I will have to get those up on the main site here. Also, IF YOU HAVE ACCESS TO A XEROX MACHINE AND WOULD LIKE TO BE PART OF A WRITTEN ART EXCHANGE COLLECTIVE THING, FUCKING SAY SO NOW!

For the next 36 hours I will be doing publishing sales gruntwork, blasting Abbey Road in my big dork headphones, and living for my next free moment.

glacier moved again

additionally,

i am totally fucking obsessed with the abbey road lp

I Too Am Waiting

for my mind to allow me to post something of quality. At least I'm in a better mood.

work is bad for you

and I'll be working all weekend, again, for the third weekend in a row. I now understand why my last boss took the LSAT just before leaving this job. If you can do this much work, and I'm not 100% sure I can right now, you can probably do anything. Must develop work ethic, then convert into art ethic or real estate ethic, depending on how cynical I've become. Or I could just keep selling these 4wes0m3 boox. Hugs are appreciated.

...

looking young.

tonight's homemade yuppie dinner

grilled medallions of barbeque-marinated pork served over fluffy, buttery, chive- and chili-seasoned rice alongside green beans steamed with crushed peppercorns. help.

return to decadence

Seth and James got me to drive them to Costco, and I decided that this was it. If we were living in the richest country in the world, it was high time that we acted like it. This was the first time I had left the house since Friday night--I had been in my bedroom office filling out forms and answering emails for two days straight. While we wandered the aisles, passing the open-air fridges of ribbon steak wrapped around spinach leaves and feta cheese...and the forty-foot tall shelves holding up thousands of five-pound bags of Doritos...and the freezers filled with stacks of salmon burgers and spring rolls and enough preservatives to render refrigeration obsolete...it happened. I knew what to do. We got the hell out of there and drove down rte 16 to JOHNNY's FOODMASTER and bought every goddamn thing in the store. Cheese logs, lettuce, frozen pizzas, cranberry juice cocktail (five for a dollar), steaks, pork medallions, barbeque sauce, hamburgers, chives, steak seasoning, everything but the hot cocoa I've been after. I drove home like a madman and before everything was put away I had a bloody steak in my left hand and I was pounding seasoning into it with my right. This was it, bloody dead cow. No more waking up on Saturday (and Sunday) morning just to do paperwork all day. No more chinese takeout and loneliness. There would be steak and barbeque pork every night this week. There would be regular sex. I would play music again and write again and drink my bourbon again. When the [delicious] steak came off the George, I served it over romaine lettuce with feta cheese, dried cranberries, and balsamic dressing. I ate and loved it, and then I went back to work.

got it all

in terms of music and work, anyway. if i never slept, my 'sales job' would never be done. the exciting part is the music--if i give you names, will you look them up at allmusic.com? there's bohannon, the crown heights affair, good ol' al green... i may need to get some chic next. if you could hear it, you would like it.

When I woke up from a night of hearing the word "like" used 238,000 times,

Seth was handing me the Bohannon: Funky, Wicked & Smooth CD that had finally come in the mail. Fuck yeah, I said, more disco! And then I took a moment to appreciate how utterly incompatible I am with 99% of my age group.

mild excitement

Just finished booking nine nights of hotel rooms for my trek through northern Maine and southern New Brunswick. I'll hit Lewiston, Farmington, Waterville, Saint John, Fredericton, Bangor, and Brunswick. Bike and guitar and camera and iBook are coming. I know I won't have time to read, but maybe Huck Finn can come, too (never read it). Work, travel, physical and intellectual play. Why I took this job. The bustle of Cambridge, Boston, and Somerville next week. The whatever of leaf-season Maine the week after

wish list, 9.16.04, 8:55pm

• virginity of a virginia
• two hours and thirty-one minutes to myself, every day
• that the guy next to me at dinner tonight hadn't said "the journey is as big as the destination. i try to keep things in perspective" and "that's why i wouldn't trust your company with my assets--it's part of my corporate ethics to be up front with the people i'm dealing with" to his date
• butterscotch schnapps
• a heart

today's debate

publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching publishing vs. teaching

???

someone on the street outside my window just said

"variety is good"

buy your butterscotch schnapps now--

hot cocoa season is upon us. think thoughts of comfy coffeeshop couches, cuddly and too-cute sweaters, trees proudly without leaves, pristine blue skies, crisp air crackling through skyscraper corridors, and the complete absence of love.

Guest Author: Christopher Michael Bellinger

Gomez

IUD.SIS.STAY IN SCHOOL.CAUSE IT’S THE BEST.

The mustachioed, three hundred pound gay man in front of me was called Gomez. I didn't catch the names of the makeshift male couples making out against the walls. A framed poster of the naked, sock-cocked Red Hot Chili Peppers came crashing to the floor.

Gomez and I were talking about a chemistry course we'd taken together our freshman year. He licked the beer foam from his lower lip while he adjusted his glasses and listened. I was wearing nothing but black boxers. Gomez covered his man breasts with a white undershirt that barely covered his briefs.

Then, Gomez grabbed my bare nipple. He told me I was obscenely hot. I told him I was flattered. He put his finger to his lip and bit it.

I thought to myself there's something endearing about a ghoulishly effeminate man with no hang-ups. I excused myself and continued dancing suggestively with my housemates.

On the dance floor, hands and fingers ran across my back and over my stomach. A thumb and middle finger combination tried to remove my underwear. The cute Japanese girl from my hall laid her head on my shoulder, but she did that for everyone.

Gomez worked his way back over. 'Chris the Pecs' was his little nickname for me. He tried to make me jealous by saying Scott was huge. Then, he just touched my bare breast again. He apologized and said he just couldn't resist.

At the end of the night, he invited me to a foam party on the 17th. What a sweetheart, I thought. At least he played the game.

I walked home arm-in-arm with my housemates. We sang about women while Drew stayed behind and banged some hot little Indian number.

If only straight women were so normal.

Guest Author: Christopher Michael Bellinger

Cascarino's

It was a 4pm dinner affair at Cascarino’s. Post-bruschetta, father turned to me and asked what courses I’d registered for. I rattled off what I could remember.

Without pausing, father jumped right back in. “So, what are you gonna do for a job after college? I mean, we’re spending a lot of money on tuition, you know.”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe magazines. Maybe publishing. I need to get an internship next summer and feel it out. That’s not my goal for college though, getting a job.”

He chuckled, “So, what are your goals then?”

“To find out what I’m interested in—which I’ve done—and to learn as much as I can.”

He picked at the back of his head with his eyes fixed on the table. “Well, I’d say that’s a pretty bad goal.”

Dinner ended at five with a sub-standard tip.

reminder

we're all gonna die! whether that's carpe diem or pure depressive is up to you.

most people choose poorly.

wahoo!

i woke up again, and i'm starting to like it again. i really wish i would stop dreaming about my deceased dog; it's troublesome. happy 9/11.

life and times

i moved back here and keep seeing a lot of people for the first time in a year plus. they all say, rob, do you have a girlfriend yet? i will answer creatively in the negative by describing to you some of the experiences i have had over the past year. here is one:

***

so we only tried dating after the incident, and that was fine: you were purty and had an honors degree from a decent college. after a week you called me sobbing and said that you wanted to marry your ex and then you stopped calling. and then you fucked some kid for two weeks straight, moved home, came back to new york to see me after another two weeks. only you made out with my friend in his bed before you saw me. and then you cried to me about it, and then you went on vacation with your family. while you were on vacation in an unnamed latinamerican country you fucked a fat 31-yr-old who bought you cocaine. then you told me about that too, but at least you paid for dinner. in the meantime you made a weekend jaunt to visit the aforementioned ex at his institution of higher learning and tried to patch things up. somewhere around then you fucked a guy whose name you didn't know at a party at an 'economy' hotel, and someone filmed you but you don't know who. and then you went out with a much older groundskeeper who picked you up at a bar, and you let him molest you in his car. then you chain blew a dude who came back from the service as well as some other male suburban nightmare--in the same room at the same time. while you were telling me about that over dinner you were picked up by an immigrant restaurant worker (while i was taking a piss!). now you have settled down, over the course of the past six days, with one of your co-workers. how do i know this? because you told me. please refrain from telling me any more; i thirst for the opportunity to make something up. also i am trying not to let this discolor my discolored perception of people.

magnolia state

greetings from your favorite willy loman. i spent all the daylight at brandeis university where i realized that i was more attracted to the clothing i saw than to the people in it. o how i would like to cuddle with that pink terrycloth skirt. man what i would do to anyone in a white ribbed tank top with black bra straps showing and lime green hotpants. it's a scary world out there, and i am obviously part of it.

missed a good chance to drive into the car in front of me on route 16 this morning, after a branch fell on the roadway. thanks, anti-lock braking. the 'parkways' in mass. are funny: they all intersect at stoplights instead of overpasses and ramps. i spent 20 minutes at the same light this morning. masachusetts is dumb; even the four outer boroughs operating in their generic new york obscurity are more efficient.

the moonlight i spent in diesel cafe, where i had a big old lemonade made for me. i flip-flopped down to davis and brought fante finally. since i passed out reading charles bukowski's suprisingly literate, 2-page intro to fante last night, i figured i really owed tonight to ask the dust's actual author. three chapters: a young writer doing the writing about writing thing. a fictionalized journal? an idealist portrait of the american starving artist (in america we only have starving artists)? drunk old buk was right about the passion and the flow in fante. i giggled and smiled and sighed and thought about him and me and us. fante went to a jesuit high school with the same name as mine but in colorado--maybe it's an all-boys thing. at any rate i remembered i am waiting for a cd by 70s funk drummer hamilton bohannon (who??) to arrive in the mail and it didn't come today. more obscure, more extinct. maybe i will take my name off this blog and call it totally endangered.

on the way home i found a quarter in the quiet quiet street stamped for mississippi the magnolia state. i said maybe things will get better now and put it in my left pocket. i usually put change in my right pocket.

take your culture and like it

now through later -- ART DECO at the museum of fine arts, boston

film noir 101 series -- october -- brattle theater, harvard sq

a service of rbellinger.com

traveling job

is keeping me occupied about 16+ hours/ day. on one hand, i can't do any serious reading or writing. on another, my mind is functioning at a higher level than i thought possible (or maybe i'm just always doing something i need to be doing). let's see how long it takes me to get superlonely.

today's car cds: rhcp, mother's milk. hound dog taylor, natural boogie. outkast, speakerboxxx.

single of the day: the commodores, "young girls are my weakness"

american teenagers

last longer than any other brand

Where the Fuck is Dan Barry?

If you know, let me know.

trouble dept is fully staffed for the fall season

and i'm waiting for my youthful energy to give way to broken promises, unaccomplished art, and a killer condo.

Strong Musical Recommendation

Acquire mp3 of "Queens" by Pharaohe Monch.

P.S. Looks like this weekend is over...fuck.

parting shot, sunday night

how much for five minutes of comfortable?

guitarplex complete

braved the busted-ass T to acquire a 7-guitar rack for my room, which i immediately constructed and filled with instruments. additional information: i love the song "shiver" by maroon 5. "i shiver when i hear your name." totally hot, totally true.

sunday morning peaches

i <3 my favorite feminist slut techno psychopath. play with http://www.fatherfucker.net/.

currently obsessed with: 70s brooklyn soul/disco, by native new yorker bands like the crown heights affair and b.t. express (both named after brooklyn--wonder what my queens contributed). i'm backed way into an even deeper corner of obscurity now. i'm dancing like my father did. i'm becoming extinct.

and now all the positive energy is over

.

parting shots, saturday night

why doesn't anyone understand the word 'cute' the way i understand it? why don't contemporary american fiction writers care about things that aren't themselves? is it really fall already, and if so, how will we survive it?

Wish List, 9.04.04, 6:27pm

• a weekend once in a while
  
• a really nerdy/pretty girlfriend, definitiely with red hair, possibly named olivia, or maybe just kate or molly
  
• Quiet and Peaceful LP by Kool and the Gang (must be mint vinyl)
  
• six more guitar stands so i can turn my room into a real musiquarium
  
• time to read ask the dust, by john fante
  
• ripe avocados
  
• fresh cilantro
  
• one lemon
  

bourbon biking

makes one feel young, but how long can that last? the preservatives from my mcdonald's childhood keep my face round and shiny, and as long as the bitternesses keep yielding to cynical nonchalance i guess i'll be alright. there could be another 15 years of this, unfortunately for ________.

early in the morning

8:31 am, south portland fairfield inn. she walks through the breakfast bar in a green bikini top and sunglasses, mom in tow. goes out to the pool, which is situated between i-95 and its exit ramp, and takes off those shorts. the traveling salesmen peer through the glass as the scalding woven plastic of the white loungechair sears her taut, pastyperfect assflesh. no one really cares that mom is there. one by one, the salesmen trot nonchalantly outdoors, end up poolside, with their dannons and bran muffins and bananas. mom pretends not to notice and is jealous and is fully clothed. daughter reads something for school, which is starting soon, steinbeck or austen or something else she won't be able to fully understand for at least half a decade. oh, to be a piece of ass on a hotel loungechair on a wednesday morning. oh, to be a traveling salesman.

back again

from a tour of maine and new england college towns and cities. portsmouth is the best and you should all go. also back from my alcoholism sabbatical. the neighbors moved in and they're kind of friendly. i need a new turntable to replace the cardboard suitcase one i got as a gift in kindergarten. currently it's been playing a stevie wonder lp. the little things are the big things. i'm so in love with somerville and i wonder if she's in love with me.