Dig it: I finished captioning most of the photographs that I uploaded yesterday, and I just uploaded lots more. There are now 129 images sorted into six albums in the Photography section of my website. Get going; the images aren't going to look at themselves.

Check it out: I've just added a bunch of images to the Photography section of my website. They're not captioned yet, but I've got to head out to my weekly poker game. The photographs should be captioned by Monday, though, if you want to wait until then.

 

Be cool, beautiful people. 

Why the fuck isn’t my book selling? I stopped checking my Amazon.com sales rank when it sank into six digits. Now, it’s almost at seven digits. I am mortified.

 Amazon.com Reviews: I don't have any, and, at this point, it's a little embarrassing. There are some books on Amazon that one wouldn't think would have sold a single copy, but they have, and somebody has taken the time to write a review. So, you lazy bastards, I thought that I'd help you out by giving you some sample Amazon.com reviews  that you can borrow and make your very own.

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This book is  so beautiful, that if it were sitting at a bar, I'd go up to it and "make my move," probably get shot down, and then go home and weep gently into my pillow.

We both know what you’re into, and it’s cool with me.

The set-up: Why did the doctor ask the nurse for more lotion?

The Punch Line: I want to die. 

A priest, a rabbi, and a monk walk into a bar. They look at each other and sense that they are mere pawns in a situation that is beyond their control.

We've all been high at one time or another. Some of us were young when we first started. These people were rich or had connections. We hated those people. Others of us were scared to get high and managed to put it off for a long time.

The first time that I got high was in 1999. The transaction had been set up by somebody else, who shall remain anonymous, but we had to get to Los Angeles to complete the deal. We get to the place, and it's swarming with people, which made me a little nervous, but I was already plenty nervous for other reasons. Would I freak out? What were the chances that I could die? What was the food going to be like? Right at the end, there was some confusion as to whether we were at the right place, but everything worked out and the airplane took off on time.

I'm a poet, so people think that I'm sensitive and caring and "wise." The fact is that, except for crying inconsolably during commercials for life insurance, I'm as insensitive as a Republican at a homeless shelter.

Content. I've got to get some content up on this motherf@*$%r. I've got to get eyeballs to my site and then keep them. The more you come here, the cooler you will think I am, and, next thing you know, you're clicking on the little rectangle on the (in the?) lower right-hand corner of this page, thinking, "This guy is pretty funny; let's see what's up with the book."