praising Herbert Kornfield......

Human-Resources Bitches Be Makin' Me Take
Vacation Days


By Herbert Kornfeld
Accounts Receivable Supervisor

Heads up, G's, 'cuz tha H-Dog is in tha house, keepin' it real at Midstate Office Supply, tha largest wholesale dealer of
office supplies and business machines in tha entire muthafuckin' Tri-State Area.

Ain't no other office-supply wholesaler tha H-Dog would work for, and thas no muthafuckin' lie. Say some sucka from
Office Depot step up to me and tell me, if you want a job in our Accountz Reeceevable Department wit' good pay, holiday
bonuses and comprehensive health coverage and dental plan and shit, it be yours for the taking. I'd say, flag yo'
red-polo-shirt-wearin' ass outta my face before I Charles Bronson upside yo' bitch head, muthafucka. Office Depot can go
fuck theyselves, 'cuz Midstate is tha BOMB.

You see, at Midstate Office Supply, I gots seniority and respect. People be lookin' to tha H-Dog when they wants shit
done right. Tha office comptrolla, Gerald Luckenbill, couldn't balance his muthafuckin' books without me. My Accountz
Reeceevable Posse, Gary and Gladys, they call me Tha Troubleshoota, 'cuz ain't nobody figure shit out faster.

I gots skillz, muthafuckas. Shit be COLLATED. Copier out of toner? I be all over that shit, 'cuz only I can replace tha
Hewlett-Packard toner cartridge without gettin' all that inky powder shit all over tha insides.

I so phat, sometimes I gets done with my whole day's worth of tasks by 2 or 3 o'clock. But after I do, do I go back to my
crib and chill? Hell no. I just open up tha afternoon mail what I usually be going through tha next mornin', and I start enterin'
tha account payments on my accounts ledga. Or I assists tha Posse in preparin' the monthly statements. You won't never catch
tha H-Dog sleepin' on tha job, bruthas and sistas.

But, yo, check this shit out. Last Friday, Bob Cowan in Human Resources, he say I gots to kick back and chill for a
coupla weeks, 'cuz I gots a buncha paid vacation days accruing and shit. Now, at first I tells him hell no, 'cuz I gots bidness to
take care of at tha office. Besides, I got it good at Midstate Office Supply. I gots my dope Lotus software, my stoopid-fresh
dry-erase markers, my fly three-ring binders wit' tha pockets inside, and my own muthafuckin' men's-room key. Plus, all them
fly Marketing Department hos wanna be freakin' my jock all tha time.

But Cowan, he say all employees gotta use they paid vacation time by the end of the year, or they lose it. So I just laughs
at tha fool. "You payin' me to chill?" I says. "Man, that's some straight-up wack shit, sucka."

I be laughin', but, shit, I almost had to use my Letter Opener Of Death when I learn who be takin' my place for a week:
that old-ass muthafucka Myron Schabe, tha Accountz Payable supervisor. Man, he belong in tha old people's home, wearin'
diapers and shit, but instead he be fuckin' wit' my flow and wantin' a piece of tha Accountz Reeceevable action. But then I
gots to thinkin': If Myron fuck shit up, who they gonna call? Me. Thas right. Any way you cuts it, I gots them fuckas by tha
BALLS.

So, come Monday, instead of goin' to work, I jus' be chillin' at my crib, livin' large and shit. I gots this dope one-bedroom
apartment near tha interstate, and, man, it be tha shit. It's all done up in muthafuckin' drywall. Ma carpet, it go from wall to
wall.

But that ain't nothin' compared to the crazy phat shit I gots goin' on in my kitchenette. Now, I don't need no muthafuckin'
microwave, 'cause I be from the old school. Instead, I gots me the dopest muthafuckin' hamburga sammich cooka you ever
seen. You puts some hamburga in the fuckin' thing, press this black metal shit on top, plug the shit in and let it cook, and in
three minutes you gots this mad stoopid cooked hamburga patty. Mix up some ramen noodles and some cherry Kool-Aid,
and you gots yo'self a MEAL, homeyz.

So I be sittin' on my couch, eatin' this fly hamburga sammich off a TV tray and watchin' The Crier Report, checkin' out
Catherine from all sides. Man, that ho got BACK. Bitch got tha C-cup action goin' under them rayon blouses of hers. I just
about to jump into tha Nite Rida and drive down to tha TV station and sex up that fine ho when tha muthafuckin' phone rings.

Shit, man. It be muthafuckin' Gerald Luckenbill, tellin' me that the mainframe computer crashed, and tha whole
muthafuckin' network be down. He say Tech Support think it be days before the computer be up and runnin' again, which
means tha Accountz Reeceevable Krew gots to enter data and prepare next month's account statements by hand.

I don't needs to tell you what Luckenbill say next. "Unfortunately, with the computers down, Myron has more work than
he can handle, supervising both Accounts Payable and Accounts Receivable," he tell me. "Herbert, would you possibly
consider returning to work this week and helping us out until the system is up and running again? It would be a huge help."

Man, I just be laughin' at tha fool. Didn't I say all them muthafuckas gonna be slippin' while I gone? "Tough luck, sucka," I
tell that sorry bitch Luckenbill. "Tha H-Dog be kickin' his shit back this week. All y'all pitiful muthafuckas po'mouth tha
H-Dog, but when tha shit go down, y'all be runnin' scared and aksin' where tha H-Dog be at. Step tha fuck off, FOOL.
H-Dog over and OUT." And I slams down tha phone like a hard mutha fuck.

Tha phone be ringin' ever since, but I ain't answerin'. But I just be playin' wit' them suckas and psychin' them out: I be goin'
in soon enuf.

But I want all y'all to understand somethin'. I be tha NOTORIOUS BADASS MUTHAFUCKA of Midstate Office
Supply, and don't never fo-get that. Fuck Gerald Luckenbill, fuck Bob Cowan, and especially fuck that sorry-ass,
no-account-reeceeving Accountz Payable fool Myron Schabe. My Accountz Reeceevable Posse don't call me Tha
Troubleshoota for nothin'. Suckas think I be chillin', but I gots to represent at all times, 'cuz ain't nobody else reeceeve
accountz right but ME. So all y'all best recognize tha H-Dog and give him his full props, 'cuz tha H-Dog can't be faded, G's.
Word.

yikes.



i'm obsessively waiting for an email to come in, clicking on the check mail button every 9 seconds or so.


god, i hate this part.



he's doing this on purpose.

So, Nate, would that conversation go a little something like this: sorry, upshot is I'm dumping you and I've got to head to California and get a home-cooked...meal.
Don't you already have a little too much on your plate, Nate?

[email protected]

martiniated

martinitized

you don't realize this, but this is very advantageous to the denizens of sorabji

I should post my address so's you can send me a steady supply of gin and vermouth

Waffleboy -- what'd I tell you aby playing around w/that Dialectizer? Either that/or you've been wathcing too many 'Good Times' reruns.


Now come here & bend over so I can spank you good!

Waffleboy -- what'd I tell you aby playing around w/that Dialectizer? Either that/or you've been wathcing too many 'Good Times' reruns.


Now come here & bend over so I can spank you good!

...Good question.

letting the churning acid eat a hole through the lining of my stomach. Coffee and anxiety have the same chemical make-up.

[email protected]

back from chelsea piers.
back from the conference.
back from the booze cruise.

i'm ripping off the conference ALL AREA pass from my chest instead of that "KISS MY ASS" sign from my butt.
hell, even ill-tempered assholes like myself have to pay the fucking rent.

i moved into this apartment about this same time last year. give or take a couple of weeks. i remember spending the few waking moments i had here thinking about where i've been and where i might go. it's good space for what i pay: studio loft with a walk in closet big enough to be a bedroom. the loft space ceiling is pretty high and large enough to almost be another floor. (but i still sleep downstairs on the couch. even after spending $600 on the queen bed in the loft.)
the place i wanted in brooklyn (VIBE!) was nowhere as large, even if the neighborhood had much more flavor. i'm still entertaining thoughts of moving into the space on west 4th street in manhattan, or the other place in billyburg... but fuck it. i'm two blocks away from the train, five minutes outside of manhattan, and have a door to door 20 minute work commute. the 212's snicker at my 201, but i've never been that shallow anyway.
or at least that's what i tell myself.
this time last year, this space was empty. i was fiending for my yamaha, my powermac, and my library... spending all my time raging around the city like a madman, trying to avoid all that vacancy.
this time last summer, i'd come back home at 4 in the morning and fall asleep to the sound of kids on the street freestyling to impromptu beatbox grooves.
i guess they found a new corner to hang out on;
these summer nights are strangely quiet.
back then i'd think of mixing the sounds of police and ambulance sirens with the rhythm of the subway train to make some kind of new, cosmodemonic urban beat.
but that shit's not new. it's been done before.
and i love the word "cosmodemonic". i think anais nin used it in the preface to one of the henry miller books i was reading at the time.

i love his writing, but i hate how he always remains cheerful and optimistic despite circumstance.
it's a character flaw.
but i'm still not sure whether it's a flaw in his character or mine...

my parents are taking off out of the country again this weekend. i fucked up and didn't go home to visit them when i should have. it worries me because they're getting old, and i'll miss them when they're gone.

you can never take anything for granted.

i can't hear the sound on the street tonight.
my apartment was empty space last year. now it's filled with all my unwieldly stereo gear, my big-assed tv, my hateful computer gear, my beloved synth gear, all the cables connected between, and all the african art that i still have yet to mount.

my life is cacophony.
CACAphony.
cacoPHONY.
but it's all mine.

cacophony
grasshoppa
buttafly
music.

i like metamorphosis.

drunk and bored.

i'm ready whenever you are, Wisper...

no. there's more.

when you have too much love for this world to
contain... when there seems to be no other human capable of comprehending the peculiar beauty of
life in this world that is so clear in your eyes... where do you go? what do you do? how does your soul keep the love alive if there is nowhere else for it to go?

feeling the after effects if many martinis.
It is about dawn.
Woke up after a dream that had something to do with Camus and was partially in French which is a language I have only the most remote knowledge of. I was ascribing mock French quotes about painting to Camus. Enthusiatic ones with exclamation points.

After I woke up I lay in bed in my dark bedroom and thought about the dream. Then Baudelaire flitted through my mind. Then Poe, who was a fave of Baudelaire. I remembered this short film I once saw on PBS called "Hoptoad" which was some short story by Poe that I'd never heard of. It ends with the dwarf Hoptoad reciting the Poe poem "The Bells."

I've never especially dug Poe, and I always thought "The Bells" was annoying. Doubly annoying when read aloud and thrice so when read aloud by a dwarf.

But I wondered if Baudelaire ever translated that poem into French. I know he had translated at least some of Poe into French. He might've tranlated "The Raven." I wonder what that would sound like. Then I thought: I think I will teach myself French so I can read "The Raven" Translated into French. You always hear about how people should learn this or that language so you can read this or that work in its original language. Why not the reverse. Read Shakespeare in Dutch, Hemingway in Laotian, Faulkner in Swahili.

I will never do that, though. I tried to learn French once when I briefly dated a French girl who was living in the U.S. She told me "never ever try to speak my language again, it hurts my ears to hear you." I don't think I was that bad but, you know, she was French.

wanting to go and finish "Collages", speaking of Anais, Convinced we were lovers for a brief time in another life...Anais, that is.........Henry had the brain to keep her, I am humble enough to admit I didn't, I want to live in "Billyburg", have many pals in Greenpoint, my wife is waitin on the word from her company about a transfer to NYC, wanna go, i love LA, but many friends in LA, love Brooklyn, Swine do the 212s smirk at the 718s, thats ok, in LA when i used to live in the valley, the 213s and 310s smirked at the 818s, now I am a 323, if it wasn't for the area code chaneg i would be a 213, so whats the point, but in LA, the goldiggin girls judge by zip code baby, they are sophisticated, any thing with 902(10) you in good. people go to mailboxes etc just to get a zip code....beverly hills i sos lame, X for $15, not a bad deal, think I get on that pony this weekend......drank to many jack & cokes at the strip bar last night, wifey got mad because i gave eyes to one particular dancer on a previous occassion as well as last night, she said she hadn't seen those eyes from me since I was courting her, i told her i didn't mean anything, does any guy believe he can get a date with a stripper, doubt it, i said i was just testing the powers of the green love beads......she didn't buy it.........I love Silverlake, even the dancers at the neigborhood strip joint are hip, no big boobed/blonde/ass-tucked ladies, they are all down to earth, sweet and naturally sexy, thats a plus, she agrees with me, thats why we go, plus all the dancers gave her special attnetion, one time when she took me and a pal to the joint to buy lap dances for us all, (even herself)...it was a riot, excpet the two black dancers kept given her mean "whatever!!" looks like it wasn't appropriate for dancers to be given lap dances to other girls, WHAT UP with that, thats the flava of the neighborhood, silverlake that is, all kinds of folk doing all kinds of crazy shit and no one sayin this and that is wrong and don't be doin...etc etc ....my head hurts and like margret, my stomach lining is disinegrating, the coffee with no food has an effect, wish ai had a mic so i could load up all the freaky sounds itsa makin....

toying with the idea of translating "the Raven" to french....as mentioned earlier.

No wait, I'm not that bored.




Not yet, anyway.

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REELING!!!!!!!!!!! just got my first photo book cover assignment, YEAH!!!!!!!! desperately want that first photo credit!!!!!!!!!!!

Congratulating Waffleboy on his 1st photo gig! Who's the subject & what's the book abt?

And telling Swine that if he's got a 20-min. door-to-door commute /fuck paying Bklyn rent! (I checked while I was there -- ALL the rents in Bkyln are outrageous now.) Much less 212 rent.

You don't seem like much of a homebody.
And living across the bridge means only folks who really dig you will bother to come see you/vs. the drop-by drags becuz they were 'in the neighborhood.' I know you can afford $1200/mo. for a decent 1 bdrm. in 718 or 212. But I say keep yr present crib &
have more disposable $$ for gnarly audio gear.

THE SUBJECT IS A HIGH-HEELED SEXY LEG GETTING OUT OF A 60'S BUICK BARRACUDA, IT'S LESBIAN BOOK OF SOME SORTS, I DUNNO, I WORK FOR A GAY/LESBIAN PUBLISHER, EASY COUPLE A HUNDERED DOLLARS .....thanks though

Watching my dog, Fig, chew on his leg.
Does he think he is a REAL fig newton?

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getting ready to head to a dodger game, they are playin the phillies, thoughi don't give a shit bout baseball I guess I will pull for my native dodgers despite being a brave fan at heart.

Last night I dropped my friend Joan off at her new place, way up at the very end of Ke'eaomoku (shit, I've lived here six years and still can't spell the name of that street). On the way up we passed a bright red, brand new VW Beetle parked on the side of the road. What caught my eye was a message across the rear window of the car. The owner had taken humongous strips of white tape and wrote "Available Bachelor" - and underneath that was a phone number.

i guess that's one way to go about it.

i was shocked at first, but it made me laugh. but i bet that guy has a ton of funny stories to tell. I didn't stop to get the phone number, but maybe the next time I'm up there I will, if only to call him up and say, "Thanks for the giggle" or "I admire your inventiveness." But he probably gets that a lot.


or maybe he's just a psycho.

Enjoying watching my dog being driven nuts by a dog we are watching for a week. It's a very active dog, and my pooch is looking at me like he's saying "Get this thing outa here." Otherwise, now I'm worrying. I worry too much. Hubby's X sent a letter to the atty., and I'm wondering what in the world is in that letter that she just couldn't say on the phone. She sent it certified too. Think I'll have a glass of wine and watch "The Crow."

Maybe you shd ask yr hubby what the letter said. It's yr business too/as his current wife. And it might be something you'd rather not hear on yr way to the bank/ when he's abt to dissolve yr kids college funds...

Maybe you shd ask yr hubby what the letter said. It's yr business too/as his current wife. And it might be something you'd rather not hear on yr way to the bank/ when he's abt to dissolve yr kids college funds...

Chuckling at myself for being fooled by a cheap Photoshop trick for 2 days

R.C., it's a long story. Hubby doesn't know what it says either. We are in this together 100%, so no problemo there. If you want to know the whole sordid story, e-mail me.

[email protected]

Eating corn chips and masterbating

drinking iced tea and lemonade mixed.

I think it's spelled "Keeaumouku." The man was quick with a knife.

listening to a community radio hip-hop/rap show called "knowledge dropped"

you've gotta love a show where i once heard the d.j. say "there's no way jesus was a white man. have you ever met a white man who was that nice?"

the show isn't about hate. somehow it seems all in good fun.

happy juneteenth

you

all

eating pizza with my girlfriend.

eating the best goddamn pasta salad ever.


*wispers' easy pasta stuff*

4 cups pasta (rotini works best)
1/4 cup olive oil, or any specialty flavour oil
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar

1/2 spanish/red onion
1/2 red or green pepper, or both
shitload of feta cheese

Cook pasta and let cool. Combine oils. Chop up veggies. Mix that shit!! Mix it all up good, then crumble/grate cheese into it. Stir.
Mmmmm-MMMMmmmm!

Yeah, I know what you're saying. "Feta is sick Wisper, and it smelles like feet!" but belive me, this dish had turned many a feta-phobic into a believer. I love that shit. Put it in until every blessed little noodle is covered. But you can do what you want. Sometimes I just use the entire onion, they're tasty, but I wouldn't recommend it.


(p.s.) eat it IMMEDIATLY, straight out of the pot, because unfortunatly this mix has a shelf life of about half an hour. After a night in the fridge, it turns into flavourless crap, you can barely even recognize it. But with a prep time of less than 30 mins, what the hell would you be making it ahead of time for, anyway?

this here's 4am food.

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i just wrote the best play by play ever, motherfucker,
but we've done this before so it's not a big deaL.
the feeling you get when you're about to fuck someone you like is all lust and queazy but queazy is only momentary and it always gets taken over by lust and horniness. i wonder if she likes me or my bullshit. i bought a hit of ecstacy for $20 (finding the dollar sign took a long time)
it wasn't bullshit, though. it was just my life. i hate talking about it because it sounds so... stupid? contrived. i nake it all up to impress you. or i say it to show you how cultured i am. or to say that i am not beast but human.., or.,.,,
shutjae

gere sghe comeas.

i think she's ddmarter than i am...

but i sant ghink.

g

g

ge

ok.
that was pretty sleazy.
i'm showing s. the drunken shit i riffed on while she was in the bathroom.
she's laughing at me as i type this and calling me a chump.
i wanted to get all the other shit out before she came out of the bathroom. but now it's just me and here and the laptop and it's pretty lame. "fuck me on the keyboard". her ass would break this shit and i'd get introuble. she's laughing at this right now. i cfan type when i'm drunk and yaho'd. i'm an assho
this is the kind of shit that asshoels do.
i'm typing, this is either stupif, pathetic, deca\dent, or just siuvk.,

i'm goinfg yo hiyt the button again and post it.

becvause it's whpo iu am right now.

i am this scrambled. dddddir's sexy., but i don'ty think it's really turnigng ke on.

i son't think she kno0ws what my nake is.

do enough drugs and you regress back to grade school hysterics. that's what i'm telling myself right nowt. my head is throbbing and the birds are chirping. stephanie? sue?baby? bitch?
"just call me bitch".
"i want to be your bitch".
i want to be your bitch.

i thought it would be funny. especuially if i shot one off before she came back. that was stupid. and shameful. and then she came back. and she thought it was funny. and that cracked me up. she brought me a beer, then she wanted to suck me while i typed. and i did. stopped to snortall the devil's dandruff off her skin.
i feel closer to death than usual.
i always do whenever i do all that shit.
she's gone. she didn't know my name.
i think her name was "baby".
that's what she said.
my name was "baby".
i feel stupid and empty.
she didn't even make me cum;.
it was all stupid.
i started writing this because i wanted to apologize to... whatever.
apologize for my own reasons. i'm always surrounded by talk of men and women, and mostly i think it's all bullshit. i know less than ithink i do, i think we all do.
there are a few things that are nagging at the back of ny mind right now,.
1. respect, lake there of, on all parts.
2. paranoia. birds chirping. bolivian marching powder. possible corruption with shit that will make ny heart stop. it's not going to happen, but shuffling off like that would disappoint my mom a lot. i think it's funny that i think about that right now, but i do. i'm more afraid of dying stupidly because of idiot shit that i do than anything else. the parents expect much more than that, i think. no pressure, but i owe them.
devil's dandruff.
and the stupidity.
just because she thought it was funny doesn't mean i should have jumped at the chance. she's an enigma; very smart but still acts like an idiot. it's cheesy. usually i guess i don't give a shit. but now...
i'm high as hell. lines are extremely defined and i can hear the birds chirping outside of my window. i feel more alone than i would have if i hadn't gone out and picked her up at all. it's all so stupid. its funny how it all accelerates and the heat and lust keeps building and even the thought of what is about to happen stops the thinking process in your head. your dick really does take over, if it's good enough, you don;t get the thought control back until you shoot your load.
i didn't even come. i just stopped. i thihnk it was the drugs. or the stupidity. or how empty it all was.
this is some kind of confessional.
stupid confessuibal,
i've degraded myself for the hell of it.(oooh!)
i'm getting too old for this.(blah blah blah)
stupidity and confusion. (static is replacing something meaningful here)
it's pathetic.
and it's not cool.
it's ugly.

"nice keyboard. i can play chopsticks. can i play chopsticks on your keyboard:? yeah? i thought so."
it's all train throbbing in the head... lump b uilding in my throat... i thought i was better than all of this, i think in hindsight. i think years ago i saw myself with something more than this at this age.
funny thing about laughing at innocence and the midwestern purity is that that's what so many of us are looking for.
maybe not the midwestern values, but the idea of being true and pure is highly attractive. the guyanese girl who kept stroking my head got treated like... i dunno. not like i should have treated her. innocence makes me nervous. purity makes me nervous. being confronted with what i really want makes me uncomfortable. because it means that i can't fall back on the same bullshit that gets me over most of the time. it makes me the bad ass. i'm fragmented right now. the MDMA pill is sitting there, i was gonna eat it for the hell of it. i didn't. but i snorted back more bolivian marching powder than i should have. it always ends up making me stupid. i should have never had her in my apartment, never had sex with her, never should have even started talking to her in the bar...
it's not about feeling guilty about it. it's about... i dunno. it's about the cheapness of it all. use us and smoke us all up like a drug. most of the time i don't think there is much value to human life. i'm training myself to be a zombie.
and now i'm just being melodramatic.

she said her name was "baby",.
just call me "baby".

in the end, i'm pretty much a fuck up.

i'd end this with a witty soundgarden lyric right now... some depraved chris cornell scrawling...
something that would make this all sound tortured and meaningful. or something. it feels like 1994 seattle and the meth/sex experiments on aurora.
but basically, my head was fried out on beer and devil's dandruff.

i don't particularly feel bad about it.
i dunno.
i think there should be more than this.
i can blame it on...
but i think it;s more my own damn fault.
silly.
the porno she put in is still on the tv.
"fuck me in the ass! fuck me in the ass!"
you make it real until you come.
then you hit "stop" and throw it away.

it's nagging at the back of my head like my mom.
it's chewing at the back of my consciousness like i know.,..

i don't know why i'm writing all of this,
i'm yaho'd up. i'm drunk. i'm stoned. i'm human.
i call myself the swine.

it's all bullshit.

oooh. i'm so fucking sincere.

i really think i'm going to quit myu job.

jesus. i'm way too connected. it's disturbing seeing all your internal thoughts in print.

i need to kill this 24-7 connection and keep all that shit to myself.

telling wisper he doesn't like cheese, feta or otherwise, in my pasta salad. My secret ingredient in pasta salad is dill weed.

MMMmmmm.

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staring at a blan kscreen... losing track of time..reasling im tire and setting my watch bak 2 hours so i dont get in trouble for staying up to late...

[email protected]

waiting for coffee. Soothing my cats ragged nerves after being chased by our doggie guest. Planning on having a very lazy Sunday, maybe using my chipper shredder (for wood, this isn't Fargo). Pull a few weeds, order organic grasshopper controls. Damn things are all over. YUCK.