"Fat people LOVE free food."

- Brett Cosar


OK, now about me.

The old saying, "don't read your own press" was something I took to heart a million years ago and ignored when necessary.

But, I generally make things and store them: art, music, photos, etc.

Same goes for TTBOTT. I made it. I distributed it (to all 10 people) and I left it alone. Now, this isn't an aging like fine wine, but I hadn't listened to it for a while.

Yesterday, I took the metro/bus home -- headphone heaven.

So I reluctantly tried it out, fully realizing that I was going to seriously disappoint myself and reveal the truth: that as an artist I really do suck!

Well [cue the fanfare], TTBOTT is some serious shit. Contrary to jigsaw puzzle pieces falling out of my ass, I actually understand it a great deal and, get this, really kind of like it. Appreciate it.

Well, look at me!


Oh amphetamine! Look at the meth you got us in to...


Has it really been over a month? Oh, I still love you. Really I do.

It's nothing personal. It's me not you. Uh, I was on vacation []. Seriously. I flew in an aero plane.

I had this dream once, that I met Jesus, and borrowed a ten-spot and a joint from him. He was really cool about shit. I couldn't resist throwing around the exclamation, "Jesus Christ." Funnily, he'd reply, "What?!" I asked him if god really existed, although he wouldn't answer directly, he kept referring to his dad in seemingly big ways.

What has changed? Well, what hasn't? Democrats are still weak. Iraq is still a mess. And, California is next to the ocean. The Pacific Ocean. It's wet.

Owen, Pryor, and Brown are still a great and grave danger to the republic. Enlightenment is still out of reach for america [lower case "a" intentional].

Tomorrow, I have my annual performance review – at work -- and I really have no feelings about it. I find that surprising somehow. Work. Working. Career. A Norman Rockwell collectible plate purchased from Parade magazine insert.

Blindsided. Crushed. Wrong.