Response To A Fan Letter

I lied to you the other day about my coffee maker.  She’s fine.  Missing some parts but whatever.  Still crankin’ out the good stuff.  I lie about a lot of things but I try to reserve my dishonesty for only the most pressing and important matters.  All trivial, meaningless and mundane information is given due import and delivered with unshakable honesty.

I’m not on this blog to give you the truth.  You’re on your own with that one, Brother.  I sit the long hours on the sinking throne everyday to bring you transmission.  800words.  Neat.  Fine.  This blog is a series of character sketches.  The character is me and the scenario is my everyday life.   It could change at any moment but thus far all I have ever done is try to write myself out of a fucking chair.  But you knew that.

Because you’re smart&hip and liberal and you’re my friend.  You get me.  You know who Heyoke is, and out here on the streets we all know who the  Big Boss Man is.  That several of you join me on here regularly, and some of you rogues drop in to catch up on the many missives in the archive, thrills me, completes me.  I always wanted to be a columnist and now I am one.  I don’t want to touch on the paradox&quagmire of Internet Lit.  Let me just say that it’s gone down and we better catch up with technology, before its regulated obsolete and assimilated by the Few or worse-when what’s coming downwire from the Many is a cheap, flimsy art written by ex-Presidents and fratboys.

The Jester is in.  As we move forward with the publication of Going For The Throat, it is my duty to give you the gross&hairy minutiae of my life and subsequently find ways to make it look like a joke.  It’s a joke right?  Because fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke and, if you can’t laugh you may as well cry.  Die laughing.  It’s the byline of this blog for a reason.

Thanks for all your emails.  I’d rather not address questions about my work and I’m certainly not going to answer any personal questions considering that it’s all here, Jack.  You have it all.  Straight from the source.
Art is a means of survival for me.  That’s about as much as I feel like sharing with you about it.
Also, I’m not alone.  There are many of us.  Our re-doubled hearts peek out over the fault lines of Empire, we whisper softly or yell out loud across the borderline to our brothers&sisters out there in their forever night, and we say:
I hear you.  Strength coming.  Soon.

It’s like radar or radio.  True communication.
We both know that I’m a transmission junkie and I’ve got to get my fix.  But this blog is certainly not, nor will it ever be, the truth.  The truth is I’m sitting in this chair for approximately 4 hours every day and I can’t fucking stand it and I beat myself up for not doing it longer.  I’m giving it to you straight because, hey-that’s the kind of guy I am.  But I’m not giving you the truth.
Go get your own truth.  And send it out.

We’re waiting.