Thieves Jargon Masturbation, Drugs, Sex! A Book Review. Breakfast.

I have a new book review on NewPages about this book. You should read this book.

pet

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I don’t eat breakfast. Breakfast is a scam. They’ll tell you it’s the longest you go without eating, the hours you’re asleep (except for Blake, who nibbles Pop Tarts with one hand while typing with the other all night long), blood sugars tumbling like cat-struck flowers, blar, blar; then turn around in the next breath and advocate the benefits of fasting.

[Blake’s insomnia interview here]

Breakfast is an ulcer on the duodenum of our souls. It’s wooden cheese and stinky nickels. It’s dregs. Dregs and a shell game. Pitchforks and sunken heads on pitch forks and something aflame–as we march through the streets against breakfast.

You know that man at the holiday table who never finds anything funny, who thinks even the idea of funny is some kind of affront to the seriousness of life, to his worldview, as he begins his conversations with comments on current events with, “Now, I’m not trying to be bigoted here, but I’m older and…” That’s breakfast.

You know the woman with no hobbies, the eyes glazed over like a dead fish? That’s breakfast.

You know the kid in the classroom who announces to everyone he’s never read a book and “made it this far just fine.” Breakfast.

The girl who locks herself in the bathroom at the party and starts screaming The Cure lyrics until someone finally notices? Breakfast.

The guy who won’t bail his friend from jail at midnight; who pretends he didn’t even get the call. The lady who screws up her face and says “It’s just not natural.” Those that loves their pets more than human beings. Those that treat the elderly like children, that talk to them with the condescending kiddy-kiddy-hush voice. That in their shriveled onion hearts hate gays. Hate foreigners. Hate a perfectly formed cloud. That drive SUVs with Jesus Fishes. That never tip correctly. That hold dry weddings (oh God no!). That, with a simmering, simmering envy, resent everything that glows and claps and blossoms and verves and candles across thin, thinner, thinnest diamonds of ice.

Breakfast.

kidsredecorate

They ate breakfast…

* I come in from hunting, a wet and cold October in Tennessee. Grandmother gives me a look of concern, of pity: I’m a skinny man and skinny is suspicious. Shakes her head, says, “You don’t eat meat and you don’t eat eggs. How about I make you some cathead biscuits?”

I don’t eat breakfast!

* Years back, separated from my wife due to a mutual understanding of dislike, I lived alone in a cold, strange city. I slept on the floor, ate my meals in smoky bars, etc. But I had a kind neighbor (we shared rooms in a giant mansion in Heritage Hill, GR), and he’d recognize my disequilibrium, and Saturdays he’d stroll over–me sprayed out like an insect in microbrew fumes–and enter into my room (I was fatalistic at this time, and locked nothing. Strangely, I wanted someone to break in.) and say, “Sean, The Red Geranium has the best breakfast in town. Let’s go.”

I don’t eat breakfast!

* I used to be a pretty fast road runner. I was sponsored; I would often win the actual race, blah, blah. And afterward, the younger, or maybe just slower, runners would gather around and ask about training and race strategy, kind of hoping for the golden charm that makes one runner faster than another (there isn’t one–unless routine pain is a golden charm). And invariably they’d get to, What did you eat this morning, right before the race?

Nothing! I don’t eat breakfast!

oprah_wideweb__470x3090

He does.

*

Damn the new Smokelong Q is strong! Go read it, you breakfast eaters! Might do you some good.

*

I have a new piece at Thieves Jargon.

It involves dildos, drug use, and abused puppies. Pretty exciting, huh?

I like this mag, but when asked to submit, I thought, “Can I write something appropriate to this venue? Something crusty, dripping, hemorrhaging into the bruised and thin pile carpet of humanity? I think I can. Maybe…

mo-beer

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12 responses to “Thieves Jargon Masturbation, Drugs, Sex! A Book Review. Breakfast.

  1. i agree. fuck breakfast. nothing worse than getting up and putting food inside you. anytime i have to do that i invariably end up asleep on feet. breakfast is for sogs.

    that picture of those kids is amazing

  2. I am confused by your non-breakfast stubbornness. Ok, we get it, you hate breakfast.
    But when you are asleep on a floor, and its like twenty minutes until noon anyway, i think your little breakfast rule can go out the window, and you can get some greasy ass hangover fix,, cmon.
    cathead biscuits.

  3. Dude, wait 20 minutes and eat the best hangover LUNCH of your life.

    As the French say, “Hunger is the best sauce.”

    Breakfast is for the weak.

    Unless it’s beer, which is another concern entirely.

  4. Brunch?

    Is Olafsson the one who sang with her in the Sugarcubes??!! I kissed him after a sugarcubes show in the late 80s…

  5. for real, even a marathon?

  6. Fuck brunch. I even hate the word itself.

    As for the marathon, the marathon is a world outside reality. It’s like living life on Neptune, while drunk.

    All bets off with a marathon. If you can run (scratch that–finish, running) a marathon, all bets off with any diet.

    S

  7. You are drastically, diabolically, sickeningly wrong about breakfast, but at least you are wrong in a very entertaining way.

    Some people feel about Jesus the way I feel about breakfast, but they usually lock those people up.

  8. I am a devoted breakfast eater, cereal, eggs, milk, juice, orange slices, grapefruit, toast, jam, honey, granola, yogurt, more fruit, no coffee, but I will take what you say into consideration. You make some good points. Especially that thing about SUVs and Jesus Fish.

  9. Today’s breakfast:
    1 bowl of oatmeal,
    2 cups of coffee.

  10. I like both breakfast and your Thieves Jargon story a whole lot.

  11. Breakfast is difficult.

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