brickwallviews

fabregas out 4 months

season over. kaput. goodnight.

see ya next season.

other yuletide buzz killers include:

• humans remain basically stupid
• al gore delays release of intenet 3.1 
• hollywood not on fire 

more happy returns to follow.

-boyout. 

reason 339

Judge's daughter sues driver she ran into during crash

By BRIAN ROGERS Copyright 2008 Houston Chronicle

Convicted last year of intoxication manslaughter for the death of her boyfriend, the 21-year-old daughter of a state district judge is suing the truck driver she ran into during a drunken driving crash.

Elizabeth Shelton, the daughter of juvenile judge Pat Shelton, is accusing truck driver Lance Bennett of negligence in the Oct. 23, 2007, wreck that killed her boyfriend Matthew McNiece.

Shelton had a blood alcohol concentration more than three times the legal limit, two tests showed. She was sentenced to eight years' probation and had to serve four months in jail.

Shelton, along with her family and the family of the boyfriend who was killed, are suing for $20,000 for the destruction of the Lexus SUV she was driving and an undetermined amount for mental anguish, pain and suffering.

true fact.

just

shoot

me.

please.

brickwallboyout.

flapjacks and smokestacks

i have embarked on the journey that is roberto bolano's (posthumous) epic, 2666. there are sentences longer than many stories i could scrape together. damn good sentences for the record. 895 pages should get me to the new year reading wise one would think.

i have been having these dreams of late involving food... well, and dead hookers.

frankly a little concerned about the food dreams.

arsenal host liverpool this sunday! 10am cst on fox soccer. all are invited to my place.*

perhaps something a bit more substantial tomorrow.

brickwallboyout.

who dat say it don't snow in texas!

*complimentary halftime tea-service will be provided

forever watch winding

i have nothing original (sic) so here's something good instead:

It gets loneliest at night.
Down at the liquor store.
Beneath the neon sky.
Our moonlight.

Six A.M., the floor comes alive with lice.
The pan's dried up so tight.
With hardened beans.
We're hungry.
So I lean on you sometimes.
Just to see you're still there.
Your feet can't take the weight of one.
Much less two.
We hit concrete.

How were we born into this mess?
I know I painted you a prettier picture, baby.
But we were run out on a rail.
Fell from the wagon to the night train.

I kissed the bottle.
I should've been kissing you.
You wake up to an empty night.
With tears for two.

Cigarettes they fill the gaps.
In our empty days.
In our broken teeth.
We're jonesing.
Say mister, can you spare a dime?
Some change could make a change.
Could buy some time.
Some freedom.
Or an ear to hear my story.
It's all I've got. My fiction
beats the hell out of my truth.
A palm upturned burnt blue.
Don't call it sunburn.

You've been shaking on the job.
Just one drink ahead of your past.
There's a white light coming up.
You draw the blinds hoping it'll pass.

I kissed the bottle.
I should've been kissing you.
You wake up to an empty night.
With tears for two.

-jawbreaker, kiss the bottle

boy.

out.

hey you! put down that sandwich!

raking leaves, bagging memories

it is probably for the best the news came second hand.

i might have lost my legs.

man weeps on driveway, news at eleven.

she was carrying around the yard rake.

the big one.

speaking to her dead grandfather.

my wife reports there was a curtsy, a conversation.

there was an invitation to play.

anger.  regret.  

unsnapped photographs.

i often visualize what the moment would have been like.

his bearded face and baggy eyes.

long ago grayed hair.

tears.

my son never met my father.

my daughter never met my father.

some holes are never filled.

some wounds never cease bleeding.

the lads squeaked a 1-nil win over wigan.

ugly but at this point 3 pts is 3 pts.

life.

they say things happen for a reason.

could they maybe sometimes be good reasons?

brickwallboyout.

matt furie, untitled

debt service on an atom bomb

I am sitting in a Toyota dealer watching news coverage of the US automakers begging for help. Hmmmm... Out

but first

dateline london:

chelsea 1

arsenal 2

scoreboard!

no day at the beach

forget yesterday, remember tomorrow.

trust me on this one.

it only hurts.

he sits cross-legged the pail between his legs.

we used to called it "indian style".

the sand is gritty and moist and troublesome.

she has freckles between her breasts.

getting star tattoos is tired.

he can't find his cigarettes.

the smell of the air is salty and mildewy and will bring tears later on.

smoking, he finds the minutemen cassette and stays in the car.

star tattoos are dumb.

it only hurts.

our dear friends at amazon informed me that my copy of the new Joe Meno tome has "shipped"... i ordered in july and it was released 10/30/08. why shipped now. why not then. my clock reads 12/2/08.  i suppose they have earned a fuck-up or two.

i will get another cup-o-joe and await news of my bailout.

or cabinet appointment.

i mean i donated like $40.

bwbout.

max beckman, self portrait (1901)