A personal diary keeping people abreast of what I am working on writing-wise.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007


Dear Portland,

Fuck you. You're dead to me.

David Walker was right.

My greatest hope? I'd love to be the next Elliot Smith. I'd love to be successful without you and then pass away too early so you can pretend like you own me and that if only I'd stay in your abusive arms that I'd have survived. What a crock of shit. I'd die younger if I listened to you!

Fuck you, and while you're at it, fuck your mother.

That said, thanks to all the beautiful, supportive people who came out tonight. You are truly wonderful. To the girl with red hair and the spiral notebook/sketch pad and the boy with dark spikey hair, I didn't know you. I am really sad you didn't talk to me after I was done reading. If you read this, please drop me a line and tell me what you thought.

To the two people who walked out in the middle, at least you're honest.

To Powell's, as I wrote in your author's book, thanks for being hometown heroes and supporting hometown anti-heroes.

To the people who either linked to me or let me know ahead of time you could not be there, bless you.

In the end, it was a success, despite the city's best efforts.

Bourbon is good.

Peace out.


Current Mood: Don't mistake my kindess for weakness. It takes strength to be gentle and kind.*

*If you know anyone else who can quote Kelis and Morrissey in the same breath, I'd love to meet her.

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