This goes out to Mr. Chris.

Team Pigface (me and Huf) in full effect.


We rode with Sean-bob and Grimmy up to Sauvie a few weeks ago. It was cold but dry. I have a loose rib that feels like it's stabbing me in the innards, so I didn't do much more than suck wheels the whole way up and back.

Haven't been on the road bike since. Still commuting on Big Blue.

I'm all legs and guts with little sparrow lungs.

(Photo stolen from BG's flickr.)

I really hope that Peter Davis doesn't mind me putting his poems on here. I try to keep them as far away from mine as possible, so they don't get fucked-up.


Dear Blog

I try to be good to you and pay
attention to the way you
look and compliment you
and tell you loving things like,
I love you, sugar, and stuff
like that. But you are
demanding in your always
existing way. I try to love you more,
stroking your soft face with the
backs of my fingernails and cooing
to you as I put you to bed.
I think of you like I think of Tina,
conflicted and attracted
but also about ready
to go apeshit.

Sorry readers.

Too busy to post.

Keep checking in.

I got some shit to say, I just have to find the time to say it.

Love.