Posts Tagged ‘writing’

In retrospect, my time spent running the whorehouse was pretty simple; a very happy, if unremarkable period of my life.

I’d been in the city not so long, maybe a year, when my living situation became untenable. There was a divorce and a child and a new person, none of which is really worth explaining here. Anyhow, an acquaintance of mine, Layla, was out a tenant in the place she kept in the city for work. That work being whoring. She had shared the place with another sex worker who lived there full time off lease. The pair split the other two bedrooms for work purposes, but following a dispute involving money, as most disputes do, Layla ended up one person short for the place and as long as I didn’t mind listening to fucking a few hours a day I could have the room and the rest of the place to myself for cheaper than the last gal had paid. She even offered me the second room in case I wanted to turn it into an office.

For those first few months, times were grand and filled with parties and drugs and good food, but by the fall Layla and her partner took to throwing things at each other, so she and her kid moved to LA where she started a fine new career in pornography.

Plenty of time left on the lease (under that magical protection I have never seen before or since called rent control), meant I was left holding my dick and unable to afford the place on my own.

I reached out to another friend who I heard had recently taken up hooking, along with the former resident who still needed an office that wasn’t her home. The three of us redecorated the place, previously done up in garish pink, and I rented them the rooms on a per visit basis. They soon took another woman under their wing who wanted to expand her phone sex business into professional domination.

I made sure there were always drinks available in the kitchen and while they took clients I sat at the dining room table and wrote. The men who came through would drop money on the table and I would ignore them until they were at it. The women felt safer having someone there in case there was an issue, though there never was, and it provided some level of plausible deniability as no one ever had to exchange money.

The women cleaned up after themselves and on days when no one worked, I air BnB’d the place. I made rent with enough to pay the bills under Layla’s name. There were fewer parties, less lavish dinners, but I had a place to live and there was plenty of food and whiskey and time to write. I was happy.


So I’m done applying to SAIC, just waiting for a late letter of rec (yes, professor Beardsley I’m calling you out & I don’t feel bad about it, cause I’m out of my wits wondering if it will come it).*

Live has hit a weird slow down. I feel a bit rudder cut with the application done. There so many moving parts to project madness it can be a bit overwhelming in a seeing the snowflakes for the avalanche sort of way

Delphi has been good at keeping some of that insanity at bay

She’s assisting in the transcription process & I’m only a little behind schedule. In the meantime the Dirty Old Man coffers are running low so I’ve been back on the market for a day job once more

I should be resuming a regular posting schedule soon which I believe will come out to twice per week.



*as of this posting Professor Beardsley has sent in his letter of recommendation and all is well in the world. I am told the delay had something to do with a lodging dispute in London, a spot of Sino-interrogation (Chinese water torture).

Suffering a terrible dental malady, he felt himself in poor form to write a letter for me enough things about me under the influence of copious amounts of pharmaceuticals

SAIC has assured me that upon receipt of the extracted tooth they will extend some lenience of the tardiness of the letter

Hey all,
I’ve been gone for two weeks (at least, when I first started writing the post it was two weeks) now and though I would check in

The first week I was gone for Descent into Madness. If you don’t know what that is, check it out here.
Which so far has been a success
I’m tempted to turn the stream back on during the editing process, my typewriter seems suddenly lonely without you. I’m about to be gone for another five days (now passed) to be with family for the Christmas.
All my effort has been in the kickstarter and grad school application so I’ve not created any new content for you here.
Though if you want to keep track of what’s going on with the Madness Project, you can check it out on the KS page. I’ll be reposting some of the stuff here though as well.

Hopefully there will be some other projects to talk about soon, but it won’t be happening till at least the end of January so.
I’ll try to keep throwing stuff up here, but regular posting probably wont resume until at least the fifteenth which is when all my deadlines will be passed.

Running the Kickstarter took a lot more social energy than I thought, so I’m kinda snapping back n forth from one extreme to another.

January will hopefully be finding my way back up to some kind of balance. In the meantime I continue this process of self-hypnosis that begins everyday with the rhythm of the typewriter, though I can’t seem to get myself out of bed till almost noon most days.
Everything is coming to a head and while I am overwhelmed and anxious, I do not feel afraid.
My new flat is wonderful and I have a ‘place of my own’ as Virginia Wolfe once put it.
The people I live with are fantastic. I’m in a relationship for the first time that is healthy, stable, fulfilling, and in proper use of the oxford comma.
Money is tight as has most often been the case for the past couple years, but for once I find myself genuinely optimistic about the future.
I wish you all a very happy and wondrous new year



So in all of my chit chat rattle brag about the kickstarter and how it’s going, I noticed that while I’ve talked about it I never actually posted to here what it is. Well, time to remedy that:

It’s called Descent Into Madness 

This winter to celebrate my birthday I’m doing something drastic with my work. Something new.

And I want you to be a part of it.

Over the course of seven days, I’m going to lock myself in an unfamiliar room with my typewriter and cover the walls with words. I don’t know what the work is going to be exactly, because I’m making it for you.

I’m turning writing from something solitary and distant into a performance. I want to see how a writer holds up when they come out from the protection of their caves and have to do their job in front of the people who read them.

By patronizing this project, you will be able to watch this happen and be part of it all. You can buy the book that will come from it, original pages, For my top patron I’ll even get a tattoo of your initials to commemorate the project.

Welcome to the creative process. Watch the madness ensue.

Plus you’ll get to see me dance…


all it takes is 2$. that’s it. two bucks get you a seat at the show. 10$ and you get to join in.

yes you can always throw in more. but If every one that subscribers to this blog were to donate 5$ the project would have full backing at this point. and I’d much rather have you lot there with me at five a pop any day over a precious few throwing in more.

I hope you all will join me





* the video is supposed to start at 3:05, but I can’t figure out how to make that happen, so feel free to skip ahead to that point. or not. I love this frackin movie.




I wrote this after the fist night I stayed with someone.



It was All I could Think to do
waking in anopen French Baclonied flat. the sounds of tree lined traffic for company
All I could think to do was
With infinite access what to take. What to take…?

I’d start with the little things.the things That I wouldn’t have to carry.

an egg; a half of a muffin; a cuppa; no. i,ll leave the bannana .

I moved on, bigger things, things I8d have to carry in my head.
reading a book from the loo; photographs from the Coffee table;drawings on the wall; lines from a poem, scattered on the floor

The Heavier things I stole were a little harder to find; a broken dream of you behind the wheel as we skidd off a snowy mountain road; a fantasy of you while I masturbated in your bed; the seeds of a story Idrew from your householdd kitsch.

I steal because it is in my nature. I am stealing time, stealing breath, thieving faces and words in clips and phrases , so don’t be alarmed when you see your thoughts and your heart decorating my world like stuffed heads in a hunter’s lodge.

I do steal other things. Little things. (slutty girls shouldn’t leave their knickers laying about on the floor)

But my favorite things

Those lofty gems of the crown hidden behind wired glass and lazer fields and armed guards

was a sheaf of heavy paper and some spare typewriter ribbon.

and like my childhood heroes, Robin Hood or Jesse James, I am handing those precious Things over to someone else.

With Alchemy and Fingertips i havestolen something that wasn’t even there before. What a master I must be!

I have filled it with rapturous frenzy and spelling errors.

and now I will leaved it with you,

Mo Chroi,




I had a lovely evening


Skulls Pt. 2

Posted: 23 October, 2014 in Daily Droppings
Tags: , , ,

At the far end of the skulls was a brass marble bowl filled with half burnt sage. At the other end was a matching one filled with lemongrass.

The dog followed him inside the little house and sat down in the center. The room then smelled a little like dog sweat. Atticus reached into the coin pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small white Bic lighter.

He went from left to right and spoke to each of the skulls.

—Hello Aunt Clara. Hello Uncle David. Hello Great Gran Da. Hello Great Grandma. Cousin Sean, Cousin Joseph, Grandma Pat, Grandpa Joe, Uncle Martin, Aunt Maebh, and so on.

Sometimes he spoke a little longer, if he thought there was something they would like to know —Hello and Megan. This tulips mom planted out front are really bright this week.

or —great Uncle Gerr, Meredith took us to the ball game. And I got my own baseball and she says this will really be the year for them.

As he spoke to the skulls the boy lit a few of the candles. The last skull, the one closest to the door, was smaller than the rest of them. This one he took off the shelf and kissed.

—Miss you Sally, and put it back. He lit the lemongrass and blew on the embers. —you stink Riley.

Atticus put the lemongrass back in the bowl and took the skull called Sally down from the shelf. He laid on the floor with put his arm around the dog and put Sally on his chest. Then, he stared up at the stone roof and daydreamed.

In case you noticed, I was gone. So before I get back to… I’m not sure I have a normal on here anymore… but I’ll give you a little something anyhows.

First, as to my whereabouts, for the last week of November, I was travelling and didn’t so much as open my laptop the entire time.

The day I got back here my partner Delphi was moving into her place. Two days later, I was moving into mine, thus ending my month of homelessness. Since then I’ve been getting shit together at the new place and working on other projects I will get to later.

The past two months I’ve also been working on a project which was originally just going to be a post; then it became three posts, then much more. Now I can’t talk much about it due to legal reasons I have been since advised of, so I’ll get back to you when I can about it. Strangely enough, it has to do with video games.

I finished reading Ocean at the End of the Lane, so expect a new vocabulary list soon.

This will be my ninth move since I arrived in Chicago three and a half years ago. Don’t believe me, let’s list em:

1. Lilly’s (aka a family member) – one month
2. Camp Fuck you I’m A Wizard – Moved in my significant other the Squid. This lasted one year.
3. back into Lilly’s for about two or so months
4. The Pirate Ship Paradox – with two of my friends, this lasted a year, ended when one flatmate moved out and the other moved in with his girlfriend
5. The Extra Room in Wicker Park – this was supposed to just be for one month but lasted about six, the intention was move in with Randori and our friend Birdhouse, we just had to wait till everyone’s lease was up and we were all ready to move. didn’t happen
6. Lilly’s again for two months. Gods, I seriously owe this woman.
7. The Goddmanptons. This was a crazy fucking four months. a couple (whisky and Lola), a couple dogs, a kid. parties for days. Sex ,violence, drugs. fun, interesting, over.
8. My month of Homelessness, alternated between friends’, Delphi’s, and some family for once that was not Lilly
and finally number 9. The new Place (yet unnamed, but I’ve been pushing hard for Patriarchy Palace or Blanket Consent Castle. My new flatmates seem not to understand the importance of a well named home)

I’ve finished another journal! It’s the last of my New Year’s resolution journals so now’s the point where I reread the thing from start to finish and see if there’s anything worth using, so I might be throwing up a bunch of old shit. Moving has also dredged whole bunch of shit out of file boxes so there’s even more old shit in a stack on my new fancy awesome antique desk for me to sort through and maybe use.

Completing the last notebook also means I get to move on to the one Delphi gave me for my birthday last year (I’ll get a picture up here soon).

I’ve been throwing a lot of irons in the pie right now. A few of which I’m hoping to roll out in mid October(which is now, obviously I started this post last month) what it means for the Dirty Old Blog is that it will be connected to a larger web of mediums. I’m not sure exactly how it’s all going to work, so I wont be specific, but I can tell you, it’s going to involve video.

At the beginning of the year I said that this was going to be the time for me to focus on my art and that is exactly what I’ve been doing (finally). I’ve started getting more involved the community here, I’m set to do a reading at the Redline Tap on the first Saturday of November.