“New York has closed itself off to the young and the struggling. But there are other cities. Detroit. Poughkeepsie. New York City has been taken away from you. So my advice is: Find a new city.” — Patti Smith, when asked if it was possible for young artists to come to the city and find the path to stardom that she did.
Muff Fact #1712: The iconic crying Indian Chief in those “Keep America Beautiful” PSA’s from our youth was named Iron Eyes Cody…and not only was he NOT Native American — he was Sicilian. His real name was Espera de Corti AND HE WAS MY GREAT UNCLE — a fact that did NOT keep me from belly crying every single time I saw it. And I’ll be goddamned if it didn’t work: I am a militant NON-litterer and am mightily disdainful of anybody who isn’t.
Our friends — the absolutely BRILLIANT Jackie Beat, Selene Luna, and Nadya Ginsburg — made a satricial and hilarious spoof, inspired by “The Corn Refiners Association” propaganda commercials, which just got a mention in the New York Times! You don’t know ON TRACK ’til you’ve hung with THESE FIERCE BITCHES, my friends. Hurray!
“I really, really want to make love in a wheat field.”
By the way — just for the record — if anyone earnestly uses the phrase, “make love” in my presence…that’s a GODDAMNED DEAL BREAKER, my friends. Mama don’t play that shit. You either FUCK…or you DON’T FUCK.
That is all.
Merwin is one of the greatest delights, inspirations, rapturous loves of my life. He is my last living link to all that was. When he is gone…I shall be inconsolable.
For the Anniversary of My Death
by W. S. Merwin
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what
Wait a minute…I just realized something very vital to my Kevin Bacon/Pigface thesis: The KING of All Pigfaces…bears the surname of “Bacon”. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.
Happy Birthday to my HILARIOUS, DROP-DEAD GORGEOUS little sister, Julia, who would have been 38 today but chose, instead, to depart for regions beyond. Someday, when we are all together again — probably in some place VERY VERY warm — you can tell us why…and we can kick you right in the fucking taco, with what will undoubtedly be hooves, for ever leaving us. WE LOVE YOU and MISS YOU, JULES! Save me a seat by Oscar Wilde!
Stephen Baldwin is OFF TRACK. As his oldest brother, Alec needs to step up and do the merciful thing and just put a hollow-point bullet right between this pathetic motherfucker’s eyes. That born-again meathook is the only Baldwin I WOULDN’T bang.
Goddamnit, this makes me BELLY SCREAM WITH LAUGHTER: “Joan Rivers’ vagina is so old…it has a separate entrance for black cock.”
Something I’ve long wondered: When someone has a pigface…do they KNOW they have a pigface? I mean, is Kevin Bacon aware that he has a snout? Please advise.
muffy bolding 