so I am told that this is better. so this is our new blog.

http://skintmagazine.tumblr.com/

louise.

I need to meet a woman named Louise.

sort of

Sort of like when you're riding the bus and you don't even notice you've passed a church until the old woman next to you is making the sign of the cross.

wisdom

see also: mother's wisdom.


There's a dead rat smashed on the pavement,
blood still caked on its tire-marked fur
and every time I walk past I am reminded
of a diamond merchant with great hair.

on second thought,
it makes me think of my mom, years ago,
forcing my brother and I to hold hands as we cross the street,
saying the spots on the pavement were bodies of kids
who didn't listen to their parents.

aura

She used to work for a fashion magazine--then she moved to Hawaii to pursue her psychic abilities.

Now she is next to me- I have a worried look on my face- and she has her eyes closed tightly.

Even at 41, she looks beautiful. She's tuning into what messages the other world has for me and I'm wondering why I even asked.

Finally, she opens them and says, "You know when mashed potatoes sometimes are all sticky like glue?"

She rubs her fingers together for emphasis. I nod my head but have no idea what the fuck she is talking about.

"Well, that's what your aura looks like. Sticky mashed potatoes."

great.

good year

she's filling out a loan application when she turns to me and says, "last year was a good year, I think I made $16,000."

good year, indeed.

two dollars

this guy will draw anything for you for $2. why didn't we think of that?

2 dollar drawings.

drag queen

"I'm beginning to think I'm man-made," he says, brushing an eyelash from his cheek. And the drag queen on the bus in the hospital gown, she thinks I'm pretty.

SF vs. Chicago

A friend calls me up all the way from San Francisco and he says,

"Why'd you quit?"

"Quit? Quit what?" I asked, knowing very well what he meant.

"Hard work---unhappiness." He replies. "WHY DID YOU QUIT?"

I think for a minute. "Cause I can work hard and be unhappy in Chicago for cheaper rent." But it's not the same here.

(immie killjoy)

#21

#21. There is no reason to be thankful that your heart continues to beat, that your blood continues to flow. This is supposed to happen.

probably not

me: do you think anyone will read this?

scott: probably not.

#2

#2. Never allow anyone the luxury of boring you.

rotting piano

Linguists have pointed out that The Hopi have no word, no phonetic sound, no grammatical form whatsoever for what we call Time. And Rats live in the piano. I can't think of anything sadder than rats living in a piano. And my grandfather, he used to garden, play drums, dance, smoke cigars but now he can barely open a letter. And that violinist on the steps in front of the art museum, he said that this all goes back to Constantine, and the gypies, each carrying one page from the bible across miles and miles of land.

And the other day a woman called and said, "I have to cancel my appointment. My husband, he has cancer." And the Bubonic Plague, oddly enough started with rodents and fleas. Something so small (hiding in something like a rotting piano) and suddenly, you've got a million people dead. And every morning in the shower I say to myself, everything is going to work out--Im going to figure out how to make some money, everything is going to work out-- because it has to.

(immie killjoy)

inspirational poster

PBR

Tromping over fetid Friday night sidewalks through the hiss and wheeze of asthmatic air conditioners, pissing humidity, I stumbled home. It was the seventh day of my get sober initiative. It was the seventh night I would pass out drunk. Progressively drunker. Six twelve ounce cans used to put me to sleep just nicely. Then it moved up to six sixteen ounce cans. Then it switched gears to ten twelve ounce cans. Tonight I drank three twelve ounce pints, one 20 ounce bottle and three sixteen ounce cans. It was beginning to feel like I was destined to go to bed sober.

Then I got home.

"I got some beer, brother. I've been to the suburbs." I anticipated a thirty pack of Old Style, maybe something a little danker since it was acquired from the low tax suburbs.

"No, seriously. I got some fucking beer." To be sure it came as a shock. The salmon to the face came in the form of one hundred twnety 24 ounce cans of only slightly expired PBR. The sight made my liver hurt and my mind reel.

(james d'ore)

rent check

#56. There is NOTHING more inconvenient than having to pay your rent on time.

sperm poem

science says as long
as it's still wet
sperm can live up to 72 hours
in any given environment.

and according to science
some of you just might still be living
in those tissue roses resting in my
bathroom trash.

and if science is right
then even after you leave each night
I'm actually not alone cause there's
good company in these sex stains.

(immie killjoy)

broken

When I was three years old my mother kept geckos on our sun porch during the spring, summer and most of fall. One day I caught one, not by the tail (which, I'm told has a tendency to fall off in the grips of predators and three year olds).

I took it to my mother. When I found her, I realized I had squeezed the gecko to death in my excitement. It fell twisted and dead from my fat fingers and I looked up at my mother with my blue eyes and told her "broken" and shrugged my shoulders smiling.

(james d'ore)

loneliness

loneliness

bum wisdom

At the bookstore a bum opens the glass door,peers inside and yells, COWARDS!!!

The man next to me is holding a Japanese cookbook.
He has glasses and a wedding ring. He looks at me and says, "He's talking about more than half of us, you know."

I know.

(immie killjoy)

pet stores

The saddest thing I've seen at the pet shop:

they used to keep the kitten cage next to the aquarium full of mice. six cats in a cage made for two. twenty mice in an aquarium made for ten one-inch fish. the cats moved like small intestines after eating indian take out. the mice seemed nonplussed.
(james d'or)

important news

So, I finally got paid for all that porn I wrote. (james d'ore)

the first important skint decision

scott: so explain to me why we can't sign our real names? is this like truckers using CB radios to pick up hookers?

me: because we don't want to piss off our friends.

scott: i have two friends and neither of them like me much.

me: i guess i don't have any friends either. but i still think we should use fake names.

scott: because no one knows that skint is the two of us?

me: um, i think fake names is better

scott: are better.

me: fine. are better.

obesity

When I walk into the room my sister is reading a newspaper-- its one of those special Sunday editions that are tucked inside the real newspaper. She looks up at me and frowns.

“According to this article I am obese.” She tries to laugh but looks pained. “Obese!”

I don’t know what to say, when I think obese I think of the mother in Whats Eating Gilbert Grape. When I think of obese I think of those talk shows where they weigh people who can’t walk by driving them in a truck over a large scale.

“AND…” she continues, “In order to just be considered as ‘overweight’ and not 'obese' I would have to lose forty pounds.” She looks at me in disbelief. “Forty pounds! Seventy pounds if I want to be a normal weight….”

She throws the paper down and lights a cigarette. She blinks a couple of times. “I’m a little upset about this…” She says a matter-of-factly.

The best I can offer is that I think she is proportionate. I really can’t say much: despite our shared genes, I have the exact opposite problem, no matter what I eat I still look like I rotate my time in the bathroom between puking and shooting heroin.I think it's cause I'm poor.

I suggest she gives up soda or the pot of coffee she drinks everyday. She shakes her head angrily. “I’m not giving up coffee…and I’m sure as hell not drinking fat free creamer. That stuff tastes like shit….”

And she shakes her head again, ashing her cigarette. “Seventy pounds. Seventy fucking pounds." (immie killjoy)

masturbation

I was so mad at him I masturbated thinking about his girlfriend.

I didn't even find her terribly appealing. She reminded me of a documentary I had seen about Ezra Pound. And she drank Southern Comfort straight out of the bottle.

I would find the lipstick smudged half pints scattered around the apartment.

They liked to fuck on the back porch, as the sun rose. That was what I thought about while I jerked off.

One morning a bad burrito decision placed me in the bathroom, within earshot of the back porch. I now switched out the sensation of evacuating bowels with evacuating testicles and prostate. (james d'ore)

Musicians Can Get Health Care!

I recently was browsing the Hideout's website and came across some helpful information for musicians without healthcare:

Are you a musician? Do you need advice or information about health insurance? You're not alone. A 2001 FMC survey of 2,700 musicians revealed that the complicated process of obtaining health insurance overwhelmed many of them.

FMC has teamed up with Alex Maiolo and Chris Stephenson to create HINT – the Health Insurance Navigation Tool. The goal of this project is to provide informed, musician-friendly support and advice to curious musicians who need information about health insurance, for free.

There are two parts to this project: First, we have written a number of articles that give an overview of the options available for musicians. Second, we are offering a free telephone advice service where you can talk to an insurance expert about your situation to understand your options.

We see this project as a safety net for those musicians who remain uninsured because of lack of support or clear information. Those musicians who reach out for help will get it. With this small step we hope to bridge the gap between confusion and need.

see more here...

Free Art Show hosted by Skint & Brilliante Records

Indie Film Making On A Budget

With literally no budget and through self distribution, filmmakers Ben Morgan and The Quality of Life Crew have put together an unbelievable film called The Quality Of Life which will be premiering at the Hothouse next Tuesday.

The film tells the story of two young graffiti artists in San Francisco's Mission district who struggle to maintain their friendship as their lives unravel while the cops close in.

Already it has received many accolades including “Official Selection” at the Seattle International Film Festival, Cinequest Film Festival, and Stockholm International Film Festival.
Morgan also wrote a book about being resourceful and creative when budget is tight called The Graffiti Model for Indie Filmmaking worth looking into if you create films. Tuesday July 25, 8pm, HotHouse, 31 E Balbo (at State) $8, $6 w/student i.d.