Psyched. Tomorrow we’re seeing the Dalai Llama speak. Once in a lifetime stuff right there kids.
Man: Hello, mother leopard.
I have your cub.
You must protect her,
But that will be expensive…
10,000 kola nuts,
Wrapped in brown paper…
Midnight, behind the box
I’ll be the hyena, you’ll see.
Such is life in the jungle.
Let me move you like a distant planet set out far in the rings of the universe. Let me dance in your rays. Be my sun as I’m trapped in this miasma of dirge and dilemma. The slow moving, fast fingered, shadowy world of feebs with power, and geniuses on food stamps, breaks me at every moment like a cheap floozy on a hot Saturday night. Come on baby, don’t make me beg for salvation.
Movers and shakers, up and comers, and game changers sign your name along the dotted line, for you have been given what we’re all foaming at the mouth for, opportunity.
The blind all co-exist with the bums and the junkies in alleys and churches, while men get on their knees every day and wait for a little piece of sanity. This world is black like cup of garbage coffee from the broke down gas station on the corners of Broken Hope Street and Vivisection Avenue. Around here, you’ll find the kid with that smoke hanging off his lip talking with his hands, telling lies so big, God himself pulls up a chair to take in the theater.
A whore with trade show bruises take long drinks from cans of piss covered with a paper bag while dog faced children fight in the streets. The preacher stands at the foot of the cross that’s been passed down from padre to father and he nips his bottle while he wonders if his choice was the right choice. He let his love kill him and now that the lights grew dim, darkness took hold a little earlier every night. The cars screech past as broke dick sound systems crunch through tattered speakers.
Off in the distance, a bird cries out in of the few trees left. No one hears.
Free dog with purchase.
SO, my dog is being a butthole while I’m trying to write. She’s going to get packaged with a hobo pack, and a stick of gum on the side of the street if she doesn’t quit crying.
I just finished season one of Hell on Wheels. Damn is that show excellent.
I got an email from my agent, publishers are reading. I’m hoping one of said publishers wants to make nice and release Coffins.
No other news to report. Till then…
If you could only hear the things I keep inside. The things I don’t talk about, or write stories, or put out there for the world. There is a lot no one knows or sees, but know what’s swirling around inside is hectic, confused, raw, correct, wrong, simple and complex in one insane fucking tornado. I could see a shrink, but I’d never get anything done then.
From the desk of Robert Dean,
Hi everyone. How’s everyone? How are your parents, kids, pets?
Down here in humid city, everything is, well, quiet. I’m waiting on news about We are The End from MDP, and waiting on news from NYCreative on anything concerning my various projects. The show in Chicago went well, you can see a video of it if you scroll down just a bit. I’m gonna try and book some other shows. It was fun having people agree with all of the shit that goes on in my head.
Really, I have going on right now is limbo, and the continued writing of The Red Seven. Not much else.
Hopefully, I’ll have some kind of news to share. Oh, and if you know a cheap web guy, please send them my way. I need to get this site looking a little better and I have no idea how to do it.
Yours truly speaking @ Moonrunners Fest in Chicago.