Let’s file this under the Jimmy-Needs-To-Get-Laid folder.

I am in the middle of what looks like a fort in a forest. Maybe it’s a tree house? But it can’t be since we’re not elevated. It’s more like a fort that is dug into the ground with a vehicle ramp made of logs to the right of the building that came right down to the bottom of the fort.

Somehow I got the sense that the fort was under attack, and right when I sensed that a jeep came down the ramp. I sat against the opposite wall trying to futilely get away when out popped Pedro Martinez walking towards me like a villain in a movie. I look away from him when all of the sudden he was standing over me with his dick hanging out of his pants.

He was taunting me waggling his dick in front of my face. It seemed like he wanted to emasculate me, so I did what came naturally to me. I grabbed his dick and started sucking on it. Pedro moaned and moaned but never got completely hard. Nothing is worse than sucking on an eternally flaccid dick. Instead of sucking him off, I finished him off by hand aiming his dick towards my mouth. And only one thing entered my mind:

HOLY SHIT! PEDRO MARTINEZ’S CUM HAS GONE BAD!!!!!

It was not good. I’ve tasted many different sorts of cum in my life, but never had I tasted anything so foul. It was like eating Korean fermented soy bean soup that has been left out a week too long.

So I kissed Pedro to force him to taste his own cum. He just kept grinning and saying what a good job I did.

Then I woke up.

What does this mean?

Un garçon precieux, absolutely looks like a glass figurine: too precious to handle, too precious to fully love without abandon. He’s a skinny Korean boy with nerd glasses wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt exposing wife-beater underneath, slim fit dark blue jeans. He’s the kind of boy you are compelled to look at, and not necessarily in a sexual way.

But he walks by and the whiff of his cologne turns Glass Boy into something much more odious. That peppery musky scent took him from un objet d’art to just wanting to go up to him and punching him in the face, to tying him up and ravaging his asshole while spitting on him. I guess it would be an understatement to call it an abrupt turn of emotions.

Last night quite a few people were hyped up to watch the third Republican presidential debate. A lot of people talk about being compelled by the horrific car wreck nature of it. Frankly, that’s a stupid excuse. Most of these assholes would have watched it even if it were two librarians on quaaludes.

I really hate politics. It brings out the basest of our human tendencies, and each time I think about “the issues” the worst of my pessimism rises to the surface. I find Republicans to be ignorant and greedy with a dash of sociopathy on top. Democrats are conniving and scheming and they have no shame in selling their lovely Nana down the river for a few more shekels. I don’t think we would be any better with Bernie Sanders as president than with Hillary or Trump or Jeb or Rand.

So I didn’t watch the debate. I didn’t want to watch it. If I wanted to spend three hours watching a bunch of cunts, I would have been born a heterosexual.

And here is what gets me. The first chance to vote on any of these assholes is on February 1 which is the Iowa caucus. This damn election already feels too long, yet we are 3 months away from anyone making any significant vote to narrow this field down. AND we are over a year away from the presidential election proper.

If there is any time for these doomsday cults to actually be correct, I am hoping that they are soon. I don’t know if I can take another year of this.

J’apprends le français, mais je ne sais pas pourquoi. Peut-être que je veux être agaçant? Quand même, français est très difficile.

Yes. That is annoying what I just wrote, but because I’m learning French I suppose I should put it to some use. I know it looks like something a high school freshman writes after his or her first semester in French, but I guess I am a little like that right now. Genders of things are difficult — it’s not like in Spanish where for the most part nouns that end in -a are feminine and nouns that end in -o are masculine. Also understanding French speech is difficult.

The other day there was a solicitor in front the of the entrance at Ralphs, and I decided I was just going to speak French to try and deflect them. What a brilliant way to put my newfound learning to use! Perdon.

“Je suis aussi de France,” the guy said to my horror. Fuck. The first time I use this lie, and I get caught. I’m sure there is some fucking moral to this, but I’m not here for morality.

“Je n’ai pas temps maintenant. Perdon,” I said back to him and just walked away. I realized I should have said les temps, but I was happy that I got it somewhat right.

My podcast boyfriend Brendan writes a daily newsletter entitled Mystery Date which I just linked to and you can see in my blog roll below (or to the right or left depending on the layout I choose if you are reading this in the future.) I am fascinated each evening when one of his missives hit my email inbox and promptly read it.

With the death of Google Reader and the seeming death of RSS feed readers, I wondered if there was a better way of distributing blog updates. It turns out that WordPress can turn a normal run-of-the-mill blog into a newsletter. So if you look at the very bottom of this webpage*, you will see a “Subscribe to Blog Via Email” section.

It’s pretty simple. When I post on this website, you will be sent an email with that exact same post. There might be some formatting differences between how the post is presented here versus how it appears in your inbox, but you can always click on the link to bring you back here.

Okay. This was a bit stupid. So here is a strange user-generated video for Coil’s “Backwards”.

* Again, this direction is dependent on the layout I have here. If you are reading this on a mobile device**, six months from now, six years from now, sixty years from now, this might not be the case. But I trust that you are smart creatures and can figure out for yourselves where to find this feature or if the feature is still available.

** I checked on my Android phone, and if viewing the mobile site you probably won’t see this “Subscribe to Blog Via Email” section. You’ll need to view the full site for now in order to see this. I guess this is something I should figure out very quickly.

I honestly don’t know if I could have appreciated Coil’s Backwards before now. This was supposed to be the Coil album that Trent Reznor released on his boutique label Nothing Records in the mid-90s. It always seemed strange to me that he seemed to look forward to its release in interviews but nothing ever came from it. It was merely the mysterious Coil project, and that was all it was ever going to be.

It has finally been released in an official way. Not via bootleg. Not by way of remixes as on The New Backwards. I guess this is the closest thing to a true release since both Jhonn and Sleazy are dead.

Now in my mid-to-late 30s, I really can appreciate the nuances of Coil’s music much more than I could imagine doing so as a teenager. I suppose there is a lot of impatience in adolescence that mellows out with age. Backwards really does fill in the gap in the Coil oeuvre, and impatience or not, it really is a shame that it took this long for it to see the light of day.

I don’t know what happened to me. At around 6 this morning, I don’t know if it was a night terror, and epileptic fit, a seizure, a stroke. But something happened that has left me fatigued, without appetite, dazed and breaking out in cold sweats.

On a normal night I don’t remember my dreams, so I don’t know if it was an out and out night terror that paralyzed me. But as I was trying to regain consciousness I couldn’t move at all. I could hear what sounded like a heartbeat from the inside of the heart, but I think that was probably my snoring to be quite honest since I was lying on my back.

Towards the end of the episode I realized I had to piss, but I couldn’t get conscious enough to physically get up. It took a minute or so, but I was finally able to stagger towards the bathroom. It wasn’t until I got to piss that I realized I already pissed. As in, I fucking pissed in my bed. Fuck. I’m all for piss play, but there is a time and a place for it. 6 am when I’m in a middle of some sort of episode I can’t describe is not the time to be celebrating piss.

Yes. I motherfucking wet my bed. Like a fucking five-year old. I think the last time I wet my bed was in a hotel room in San Diego while on some really good heroin.

Thankfully I needed to do laundry today anyhow, so I just added all of my bedding to the mix. But man, nothing I did gave me energy. Not coffee, not muesli with honey, nothing. But the laundry needed to be done, so it didn’t matter that I just wanted to put my head down and just sleep away the day. I hate adulthood sometimes.

Now that I had some lunch, I’m feeling better. Barely.

On Monday before the rains unleashed its sudden fury upon Downtown LA, there I was in my little Toyota Camry on Flower Street trying to escape back to my little hamlet of San Pedro. My grandmother had an appointment at her knee doctor, and we were ready to get the hell back home.

It’s around 3 pm when I’m just crossing under the 10 freeway in the no. 1 lane when the car in front of me brakes suddenly. I proceed to do the same thanking that my brakes are still good.

I look in my rear view mirror as I tend to do and see a white SUV charging right at me unable to stop in time. Fortunately he is able to veer to the no. 2 lane to miss me. However Ms. Black Honda Civic wasn’t able to follow suit. I was expecting to hear a big boom followed by a sudden jolt and the sound of my dashboard completely ripping apart because of those goddamn stupid fucking airbags, but no. I hear a collision but it doesn’t sound like it comes from my car. Just a faraway-sounding thunk.

I look to my right and see Ms. Black Honda Civic’s left headlight dangling. Oh shit. Her car got a bit fucked up. I start to try and move off to the side of the road, and to my surprise I see Ms. Black Honda Civic just zoomed the hell away. I’m shocked that she doesn’t want to exchange information. I guess as much as I want to be Mr. Jaded Cool Cynic, I’m just a naïve schoolboy at heart.

So while Ms. BHC might have jetted, I pulled over to see how bad the damage is. My grandmother, bless her heart, was wondering if the car had broken down. She didn’t even feel the collision. As you can see above, all you can see is scrapes on my bumper. Not even a dent!

It reminded me of the last hit and run I was in. But rather than being angry, I couldn’t help but laugh. C’est la vie.

I was originally going to just watch the Cardinals-Cubs game just to make sure the Cardinals were going to make a postseason exit. They did, and it felt great to see the Cubs clinch only their fourth playoff series ever and their first ever at home.

I wasn’t going to watch the Dodgers-Mets game, but I did, and the Dodgers won 3-1. I wasn’t prepared to get emotionally invested in the Dodgers only to see them come up short. I’m invested now, and Game 5 on Thursday will be insane.

As I was driving back home from The Grandmother’s doctor’s appointment, there was an SUV with a decal in the rear window that read “Former Fetus.” I drove past him — yes it was a male — and realized that his mother should have believed in abortions. Isn’t it telling that the people who are fighting against women’s reproductive rights are the same people who should have been sucked away from the womb?