Bukey the Cat (R.I.P.)

when you adopt an animal from the humane society they have you sign a form basically saying you take full responsibility for this life you’re bringing into your home and you better not fuck up or else. i do take better care of bukey than myself. i care more about her than my ownself. that’s why her going blind has upset me worse than either of my two divorces. it’s why i bawled like a little baby for three hours straight the other day after she slipped off the bed and hurt her back (she’s all better now). she is my true soulmate so i care more about her than anything else in this world. that leona helmsley who left 12 mil to her dog and nothing to her grandkids? that is cool. that dog of hers loved her more than anyone else on the planet and she knew that and did the right thing. they say a lot of old folks give all their money, or a part of it, to their beloved pets. i’m right on with that.

howie

p.s. bukey’s on my lap right now.

**************

Dear Robert:

Ah fuck, Death again.
Death at the end of every sentence, built into every heart.

The social scientists will never admit that losing a pet is worse than losing a human, too many people would be surprised and insulted to discover they will be missed far less than a dog or cat. Yet it’s true. If I had my way, the pets I loved dearly would be living on elsewhere and those humans that broke my heart would be put to sleep. That seems fair. Fairer than this.

When we first meet those animals that become our pets, we immediately forget their bodies, so perfectly matched to their souls, will give out long before our love for them. For this reason, no matter how old we get, the death of a pet will always be a crime.

I’ll spare you the jack-assed line of the professional eulogist (“I didn’t know ____ personally...”) I knew Bukey (though pronounced BOO-key her name sounds like “BYOO-key” in my bullet head) and how special she was. I read about her antics for over a decade. Her feline indifference to being a sort-of AHA mascot lended credibility to the writing since no matter how many people didn’t write in with comments, she was always first to ignore the words and instead eat pizza.

Bukey threw me for a loop by eating human food, and when I informed you cats have no taste receptors for sweetness you posted pictures of her destroying a full box of Krispy Kremes. Ha ha ha.

Right now you’re legally insane. Love does this and so must grief. You will find your way through the maze.

Bukey was a beautiful girl who lived a long, full, happy life. She couldn’t have had a better owner.

Neither could you.

In loving memory.

Porn and Ham Versus the Siren Song of Suicide

If you’re the ‘Emperor Of The Universe’ (per another post) why can’t you exact CHANGE on this motherfuckin’ planet, nigga? And by CHANGE I mean you, me, M. Todd, S. Gary, Hip, WBM III, Capt. Morgan, etc., would be celebrated as this moment’s best authors and we would be welcomed with open arms by the hottest bitches we can imagine (and we have imaginations, by god) and millions upon millions would buy our novels, poetry volumes, t-shirts, key rings, bumper stickers, etc., and we’d be nigga rich and living like we should be living instead of working shithole jobs for shithole pay.

— Digital aka Dirty Howie

Hadn’t yet had a chance to add I’ve been downgraded to “Emperor of Only This Room I’m In”.

The practical answer to your question is that I have nothing worth selling, no novel or stories and poems don’t sell anyway. Now you could take the best from AHA and make a book out of that, with all of us pitching in on both costs and content, maybe a third of it new. The technology is now in place to self-publish high-quality books, as few as 25 or even five. A Delaware friend of mine published his own book of poetry that way. It (isn’t very good, but) looks like anything you might find in a bookstore.

The second practical answer is, if you want to publish something to get rich, your best shot is to write a romance novel (second best shot: cook book). I don’t know that most people hate their lives, but even the happy ones want to get away from themselves via the fantasies and escapism of linear storytelling. Even Donald Trump must occasionally watch movies or TV to take a break from himself–tho why would he bother when he’s a living cartoon who can blink anything he wants into existence–but he does.

I’m too disgusted to write seriously (or for long) because, “It’s all been said before, and better”, also not an original thought. There’s a better way to bliss: doing nothing at all while suffering. You have your alk and drugs, Todd has music, alk, drugs. Gary has food, alk, a pension and insanity. I have porn and ham. It would be so easy to just give up. It’s damned tempting. The way we live makes suicide the sanest choice.

Hail Motel Todd!

Motel Todd.

At AHA he was the one I felt experienced the most: drugs, sex, jobs, women, hell. I wouldn’t dare put a dime in the jukebox of his suffering, I feel like I’ve lived whole other lifetimes flipping through his selections: more and more drugs, depraved sex, horrible jobs, evil or lost women, nonstop hell, each one a dart thrown at your face, all at once.

He’s a damned good writer. He should take the sum of his writings from AHA and bind a book. Howington tells me Todd’s submitted shit was always illegible and riddled with typos, but between the two of them the final product always gleamed.

I don’t believe what Todd believes about politics, but I don’t judge him or his writing. Can the following statement be any more generic: his experiences shaped his valid point of view. Dat’s dat.

What will Todd do with his seed of greatness, plop it in a pipe and smoke it? Wash it down with a beer? (Hopefully he’s not pounding them like the good old days).

The choice is his.

This has been my hail of Motel Todd. Read his shit. It’s good.

Link to Motel Todd’s Dildo Misanthrope

Writing for what, sex and a tricycle?

A possible spammer (unless the robots are that good now) called one of my rants “interesting”, a mild, often unintentional insult. But I’m not insulted, writing is like taking a crap: no control over the outcome but sure feels good doing it.

Meatlights is as useless as my other writings. Believe me, that’s not a cry for help or comments, it’s just not as good as I imagined it was.

Notoriety has never been the problem, I can’t blame the audience. For fook’s sake I was interviewed on behalf of AHA (via webcam) for the G4-acquired and now-cancelled show ‘Screwed’ with Martin Sargent. I was on AHA for 5 or 6 years. At least 1000 strangers on earth might know who I am.

Fook writing. Only the novel format has any potential to make money; I have little motivation to write one or do anything else.

Damage Report

Been readin’ my old AHA writins’…they’re not awful, but most are bloated, in need of leaner editing. The few fiction stories are OK, they’re edited to the bone. Other pieces were amalgams of emails I’d written to Howington. Sometimes he added his own twists, but I let it slide with the rants.

My body of work is jaundiced, not good overall, but I’ve had my moments. For me, Anti-Heroart was mainly Howington and Motel Todd, with Gary Goude and me thrown in for good measure. It went as far as it was going to go and now it’s done.

I worry that it’s still out there on the web. The clever 21st century employer googles all potential employees. Though I’m not Black I’ve written the word nigger and meant it, especially towards myself. That won’t matter to these cowards. They’re terrified–like everyone else–of lawyers and bad press. No one would hire anyone admitting to typing the word nigger and meaning it in any context.

For a conservative, image and message are more important than they should have to be, because 98% of the media is rigged against you. You are the bad guy getting in the way of all their fun and you’re branded a racist for even mentioning race. The right-wingnut will forever be on the defensive from these clowns who deny their bias to this day.

Imagine any of the last 10 Presidents saying, “I’m proud of my race.” It would scare the hell out of everyone. It just scared you.

So this blog is more than a useless gesture, it’s a way of enforcing my quest for higher goals. There’s no turning back or going back, the Rubicon has been crossed long ago.

Who wants to make a living or a life without bringing themselves along?

Self-expression is an ultimate price.

bated breath

when you gonna start your wordpress blog? me and todd are waiting. todd’s put up a lot of shit already –Howington

I’ve caught up on both their bloggies. I was tempted to email H today and give him the good news, but didn’t. Of course, if he was cleverer or nosier he’d have already found Meatlights39: the blog.

It’s 0230 now. I was going to leave the compy off but with these virtual ego shrines how can anyone stay away for long?

I enjoyed my trip to Super Wal-Mart, the one on US19. In the past 2 months they totally revamped it, putting in all new floors, rearranging the depts, and best of all, a brand new fleet of powdered-steel shopping carts with wheels that Roll like Royces. Even the bathrooms, brand new and free of graffiti (for now) sparkled regally.

It took months and months of “hard work” but it was finally time to buy another tall “personal size” bottle of Astroglide. I stroke though approx. 3 of them per year.

When someone tells me to go fuck myself, I’m ready! With more and more posts every day, it’s bound to happen soon enough.

Just what the world needs…another fucking blog!

At the time of this writing I am 35 years on this planet and have lived 29 of them pissed off. Like my niggaz Robert “Dirty Howie” Howington (now “Digital” Howie, sniff, sniff) and Motel Todd, I’m using this blog as an escape pod from the much beloved and now quite dead Anti-HeroArt.com. The drunk-in-the-womb child of Howington, he decided after 10 years to put AHA to sleep.

Can’t say I blame Howie, after 10 years any tard can now blog using software like turdpress, and the net has certainly moved far beyond the days when websites were little more than mimeo pages on a screen.

I’m going to publish this post now. To help things along, here’s a picture of a nice girl.