Thursday, September 29, 2016

“Fish," he said softly, aloud, "I'll stay with you until I am dead.” ― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

I've had this thing for a long time. A long, long time. About/kinda/sorta for 14 years.

That"s a long time.

It's been a dumping ground. Like a playground.

It makes me cringe to read a lot of earlier posts/years.

But, it still stays.

This thing.

This blog does not display a particular verbosity or any amount of insight or intelligence to screen capture, forward, share or get naked to.

Yet, I'm here. Fat Free Milk is here. We're both still here. Older. Hopefully a tiny bit wiser, but still a beautiful mess. Like a dorm room. Like laundry. Like colors on your fingers, hands and arms after painting.

The thing about this beautiful mess is that it's something that I've created. It doesn't define me. It's not a reflection of what I can do, what I can write and not a fraction of my Dalai Lama/Unicorn hybrid soul that I can't properly show you because of my care for your little cocktail onion corneas.


I've been here. I guess I had no choice anyway. I always knew it. If I ever said that i was smart, I was young and stupid to say it when I did. I'm not going to say it now because if I say it now - it'll make me look dumb in the future.


I own THE FUCKING BLOCK.  It's mine. MINE. I did it. Good or bad. I learned, I cried, I failed and I tried/

I am 41 fucking years-young and can gut and filet this mortal coil better than you can.

I am 41 fucking years-old and need your help, love, hugs, encouragement and spirit.


I want to be here.

I want to stay more, k?


Me and this thing.

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.

This accessory may not be supported. Dismiss

“Inner-freedom is less about feeling good and more about learning to develop a healthy and harmonious relationship with the variety of emotional states you're likely to occupy over the course of a lifetime.” 

― T.K. ColemanFreedom Without Permission: How to Live Free in a World That Isn't

Sunday, September 11, 2016




Like You

Love You




Holy Crap


Holy Crap



I Like You

Please Be Kind Because

I Want This To Continue

I Do


Yeah that





Thursday, July 28, 2016

Fat Free Milk LIKES...

Smoking when drinking
Tiny houses with genetically-engineered Cockroach/Mastiff front gate security guardians
ESB Han Solo googleplex
JB2 Pulse speakers
Scrub Jays cackling in backyards
Tiny pin-wheel things placed in front yards
Nerd-themed, bad-odds Vegas slot machines
Coconuts, baby
Conditioned air
Honey Bees
Honking at people that you don't know when you're driving by
Your poetry book that I don't want to buy
My poetry book that you don't want either

Constellation mobile phone apps
Nephews that act like you even if you're a distant uncle
Cars that you get into that only play classical music. ALWAYS

Stephen King
A microphone and an audience
Being able to make a fire better than you because, you suck at it.
Handshakes and high-fives
Spotify playlists
Making you laugh
Pickling and canning fruits and vegetables
Epsom salt baths
Making martinis
Scars with stories attached
Running on a treadmill
Bacon bought from a deli
Fancy tie clips


Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Sometimes it takes a little bit of effort
to make things go far.

Monday, February 29, 2016

Tuesday, February 23, 2016


you were all crazy
gross and
eyes-crossed and
your bright eyes
became baby ghosts
dying, shrinking and
vanishing in seconds
but it seemed to me
like eons
my time with you tonight
seemed so
so long
so damn long
I feel sorry for all of you
the lost flock tonight
when I see you again
when you see us again
I hope that our nights are much brighter
muchmuch better

If you can't be good by yourself


Saturday, January 23, 2016


Tonight's date...
love and like is flimsy
gamma rays

You're great,
you really are
but not
and not

Things that I buy when drunk 01

Wednesday, January 06, 2016

Heterochromia iridum

My eyes are two different colors.

one used to be blue
one's dark brown
one's lighter

but through the years
the lighter eye is slowly overtaking the darker one
in tiny-slice-of-pie-pieces

I think
that before I die
that my eyes will be lightlight brown
my body's in the groundgroundground

and by then?
would I care?
and did you ever notice?
besides when the sun
would strike me
directly in my eye(s)?

Monday, January 04, 2016

So Much 2...

write about
and 2 little time
let's not make this a habit
let's not make this a thing again
2night lets pledge or
at least
make a loose promise
2 write more about

what 1 wants
what EYE want
before everything goes away forever

before it's 2 late

Wednesday, December 09, 2015


I know that I'm getting older because my chest is starting to look like the "Sorting Hat" from Harry Potter.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Today is the greatest...

I bought a ceramic goat head, I got my eyes checked. I don't have Fat Free Milk 2002 eyes anymore - but I'm good. I'm good. Kind of. I'm listening to Peaches right now. She doesn't like window panes. I'm watching a movie that I first watched in 1986. Doc Background is performing experiments in the Brown - I bought toys for my friend's kids today, I had a crappy Ceaser salad tonight but an excellent meat and cheese plate. I can't stop my right leg from moving right now and pretty much all of the time. I have too much energy. I was ADD and ADHD before you were in your C and the RI and the B.  I'm realizing that I should've been George McFly for Halloween this year instead of BatDad. I'm listening to Concrete Blonde. Now, I'm listening to a song from Sinatra and Dinah Shore.

How are you?

email me at

I see this every day
every night
this very moment
in the mirror
like slow-motion-Keanu/Neo Matrix moments
face-fucking every Ramones, Atari Teenage Riot and Slayer song at hummingbird speeds


Friday, October 02, 2015

Like spring feels when you feel like what spring used to feel like.
Like rubbing wrists, chafed – that were bound before.
Like baby laughter and like a baby’s head smells like.


Like you used to feel.

Saturday, September 19, 2015

It's Nice...

2 have you around
to see what you've been doing
2 know that you're well
to live vicariously through you and
2 know that I'm loved by you also

it's nice
to write 2night and
life surely is amazing at times
isn't it?

i just wanted to say it
before it's
2 late

Saturday, September 05, 2015

I Die Myself And I Want To Hate...

Burn everything that wasn't written on paper.

Oh, and my birth certificate. Save that.


of the universe
dogs of death
galactic souls
babies breath

Saturday, July 25, 2015

A Ticket In Crime's Square...

I've been home for thirty minutes. I've changed out of my work clothes, I've made myself a drink, I've eaten a small amount of food-stuff, Morgan Freeman is on the television talking about Lemurs, my face is now washed, I smoked a cigarette (Stop Smoking), and I just killed an ant (Sorry, ant).

I just found an electric bill underneath my keyboard = $69.05. Due 06/03.

If I can write this now - I paid it.

I kid. Money gets sucked out of my bank account for various things:



Monday, July 13, 2015

Jack: [to Kate] Tell me something. How come any time there's a hike into the heart of darkness, you sign up? 

Sunday, June 14, 2015


When you smile, it's like Christmas lights turn on at the same time all over the world.

Thursday, June 04, 2015

If You Were To Die Right Now, How Would You Feel About Your Life?

Tyler Durden just said that. I asked Tyler what he was doing in my living room and he punched me in the face and told me to stop asking sissy questions. I spit out a tooth and said that I wished that he'd blow up all of the credit card company buildings in real life like he did in Fight Club, I could benefit from a little Project Mayhem to eradicate my credit history. Then he kicked me in the eye with his boot heel and said, Kevynn, you have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need. We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression. We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them. I told him that he was scaring me, and then he grabbed me by the balls and dragged me into a corner of the room.
Right about that time - Charles Bukowski came into the room. He just walked on in, downed a can of Schlitz, crumpled it, and threw it towards the corner that Tyler and I were in. It bounced off of Tyler's shaven head, and I thought that Tyler was going to beat him up, but Tyler just smiled, swatted Buk on the back as he walked on by, told him that he was a big fan, and that he loved Post Office, and then left.
I could hear noise coming from the fridge, and groaningly got up. Buk was already polishing off one of my beers. He stripped down to his boxers and asked me where all the goddamn real booze was. I told him that was all I had, and that did he really believe in a god? He grabbed another one of my beers, kicked off his shoes, and said, I have more faith in my plumber than I do the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing…and then he disappeared into my bathroom.
I shuffled over to the phone and was about to call 911, when there was a knock at the door. I didn't want to answer it, so I peeped through the peephole. It was Frank Sinatra. Shit, it was Frank - so I opened the door. He looked great.Sharp. His pinky rings twinkled in the moonlight. I invited him in. He grabbed a seat by my fireplace and asked me how my bird was. I told him that I didn't have any pets, except for a bunch of cats. He rolled his eyes and said, no, man - how's your bird and pointed to my crotch. That confused the hell out of me. Why was Frank Sinatra asking about my dick? So, I just told him that my bird was flying around. That seemed to please him immensely. I relaxed a little. Frank was pleased. I was pleased. Maybe Frank could swing me a room in Vegas? Bukowski came out and stank up the whole place. He grabbed another one of my beers and then sat down at my computer. All of my cats instantly congregated around his feet and purred. He asked if I had any decent classical music in the place. I looked at Frank. He nodded slightly, and I tuned the radio to a station that Buk seemed to not mind. Frank asked me how everything else was goin'. I said that I guess that everything else was okay, nothing that exciting. He said that it wasgood to not be one of those complicated, mixed-up cats looking for the secret to life… just to go on from day to day, and to take what comes…
That seemed to make sense to me. I politely excused myself and told Frank that I thought that I needed to spit out a couple more teeth; did he want me to pick him up some stuff for martinis, or get him some whisky? He told me that he was okay for now, he was waiting for Ava. I got the feeling that he'd be there for a long time, and I left out through the front door to wiggle my loose teeth around. Tyler was in the parking lot of the park across the street, fighting somebody. I didn't want to attract his attention because I was afraid he'd tell me to duke it out with a Puerto Rican busboy. But I ended up walking over to him. Something was bugging me. I needed to tell him something.
He just got finished, and was wiping blood out of his eyes with the heel of his palms.
What do you want, Malone?
You want me to take you shopping or something?
Do you want me to politely ask the world to get off your back?
Are you finally sick of your life?
Are you ready to sacrifice everything
to become the type of person that you're supposed to be?
No, not really, Tyler. I just wanted to answer your question.
What fucking question, Malone?
"If you were to die right now, how would you feel about your life?"

I'd feel fine.

Are You Going?

I'm so sorry that Buddy Holly died.
Because I totally, would've LOVED to see him at the Orange County Fair.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

My 30-Year Old Self Interviewied My 40-Year Old Self...DRAFT

Describe the 40 year old's house from the 30 years old's perspective. Like he's a legit interviewer. Describe the set up for the interview. And the room and the house that the interview is taking place in. Describe some of the 40 year old's mannerisms, etc.

30 - Before we start - I've got to say...I'm a HUGE fan.

40 - What? Seriously? That's kind of dumb. You...WE used to interview bands a little bit back in the day. That's what you say as an introduction? I - WE hate that shit! What's wrong with you? You okay, dude? And I'm looking at you too, dude You look fucking skinny, man. You look like I would if I did drugs. But you don't, I know. You need health insurance too and dental insurance. Seriously. Get that shit.

30 - You look...well. Ummm. Wait. What? Seriously. I mean - I am. I'm doing it, you know - I've just gotta -

40 - Nah. No, you're not.

30 - So. Uhmmm.'re not married, huh? And no kids? Dude. what happened?

40 - Nothing.

30 - I know, but - you know, I just kinda thought by now that -

40 - Nope. You and D broke up when you were 32. Sorry, buddy. Then came C and then came M and then came L and then came R and then came another M. Some were tiny dating relationships and don't really count. You have this to look forward to in the next ten years, dude. But it's good. It wasn't bad. Obviously there were some pretty heart-heavy and emotionally, fucking, heavy months and years but - it's okay. You will learn a shitload of stuff, my friend.

30 - Holy crap.

40 - Yeah...

30 - But what happened?

40 - Nothing, really. It's just people, man. Like I said - you'll learn a lot.

30 - Who was your - our favorite? Like, who did you -

40 - Dude. Seriously. Ask me something else.

30 - Okay. Sure. Ummm...Soooooo....I don't know what to say now.

40 - DUMB.

30 - Dude, that's not cool.

40 - Sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick. I love you. DUH. I really do. I'm just super tired and I get bored easily. ADHD, madness, compassion and I'm trying to bail out water in this tiny, yet tough boat that I'm in. I've got enough shit on my plate, man. Like, I'm sitting here -SUPER FUCKING TIRED. Like, I feel like I'm dying. Like I'm fucking dead. I'm dead when I'm awake. I'm a kid. I'm a zombie. I'm stupid. I'm wicked smaht, though. WICKED SMAHT.

30 - That sounds dumb.

40 - Yeah, dude. I'm sorry. Seriously. You've got a lot ahead of you.

30 - No. That sounds dumb what you said.

40 - What?

30 - I don't think that you've grown up that much, man - this is just what I'm saying. you like to talk. WE -I like to talk, yeah - for sure, but - DUDE. You sound just like me right now but just filled with more bullshit. you're not giving me that much hope. I mean, you're totally -

40 - Seriously? Awww...fuck yourself then. Go write some poetry, go...GO FUC

Friday, May 15, 2015

Who's scruffy-lookin'?

I'm a hungry Wampa without a Tantaun
Chewbacca without a Bowcaster
Greedo with good aim
Salacious Crumb without the cackle
A Sarlaac without a pitt
Boba without the jet pack
Echo Station without a shield generator
A Snow Speeder without a tow cable
I am Dantooine without the millions of voices suddenly crying out in terror that were suddenly silenced
I am a Land Speeder without the vaseline smeared glob beneath my wheels
R2-D2 incessantly chirping
I do not know how big I've grown eating food of this kind
I am the crying Rancor Keeper
I am Yak and Prune Face
I am Sy Snootles without The Max Rebo Band
I am a Gundark without ears
I am Darth Vader without asthma and an Emperor without finger-tipped lightning bolts
Jabba without delectable frogs and Bib Fortuna without the head tentacles
Watto without wings
John without the Williams
Leia sans slave outfit
I am Dagobah without swamp
A Bantha without poodoo
and I'm a dud of a Thermal Detonator
I have convinced my new master to take off my restraining bolt
I am Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen without Tupperware glasses
I can't make the Kessel Run in less than twelve 
I am the ninth moon of Endor
I am Jimmy Smits as Bail Organa
I am Kit Fisto, Plo Kloon and that other Jedi guy dying like bitches
I am the fat, dancing Twilek in Jabba's Palace
I am the bone in your Rancor's teeth
I am Jek Porkins dying in a shower of sparks
I am Industrial Light and Reality
Luke screaming, Yes! That's true! Yes, it is possible!
A tank leaking Bacta
An AT-AT without armor plating
Ewoks without a village
and Han Solo without a bounty over his head
4-LOM without Zuckuss
I am a canceled Boonta Eve race
and a quadrapelegic Wookie wanting to rip off your arms
I am the Star Wars Holiday Christmas Special
and a swarm of sucking Mynocks
I have a bad feeling about this


I am not the droid you're looking for.

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

I'm having a healthy amount of optimism about life lately...YEAH. ME. DRAFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT


It's nice and refreshing. It feels like fancy sparkling water with lime. Like puppy smell. Like babies when they aren't pooping or screaming. When you stick your adult nose right on top of their wispy baby head and smell deep and fully and I don't know why it's made of so much content magic but we all write about it soitmustbetrue. Like inflating a balloon. Like a car wash, a fragrance-free body wash or like refresh drops on my contacts. A glimpse of fireflies. Like remembering to do something nice for somebody and actually doing it. High fives and friends that you've known for more than 20 years.


The Hindenberg, Roanoke, The Titanic band's water-logged mix tape CD, free health care, DK2 by Frank Miller. A good eggs benedict. Inevitable drought and an impending, catastrophic earthquake in my favorite contiguous united state. Episode 1 and 2.

I never thought I was that great anyway. I write like I speak. Like Yoda with Strep Throat. Like Marlee Matlin drunk. Like Jabba without Bib Fortuna. Like...fershure.

I just scratched my head before I started writing. Do people actually do that? I'm a cartoon.

I'm ridiculous.

Yet, you're the one here...READING THIS.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

I Wrote A Thing For A Thing And They LIKED IT...

I can't put it here before the magazine comes out's been a while since I've had something in print. I'll show you when it comes out. It makes me happy and it's about something totally cool!

I DID miss a deadline for submissions for CSUF though. I didn't MISS IT but more like, wrote a huge number of rants and things but they were not ready to be published - so, I didn't.

That's what a couple of those messes were below.

It would've been a bummer anyway for some.

Maybe good for some.

But, I'm not going to let you read CRAPPYEMOTIONALEMOCRAP.

That's what Fat Free Milk is for and HAS BEEN for the last 13 years!!!

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. Auden

This was the best thing that I've written today.

That sentence that you just read above.

I would doubt that it was the best sentence that you've read today.

I don't know. I don't know anythjing about your day. I don't know what was good and what was bad, what worked and what didn't maybe just possiblt that what little that I did maybe helpe a little bit even if it was nothing because...remeber...I havent really written anything yet.
I havent gotten aropund to telling you about glacier-like progression of my depresseion and the regression of I dont even know what to say
I know that its hard to get out of bed but that its hard to keep my heart inside of my body because it needs more blodd pumping through it. My heart needs more hearts too. Ive proven that its a loving thing but it also wants to eat your hearts brains
you, know – I can talk about work and how it's killing me slowly and that maybe my work is like cancer but then when I start typing that I feel like a horrible human being when I have opeople that I know that have dided of cance and a friend even now going through chemo. So im a dick. A worthless, uncaring, selfidsh dick. So. I don't know what to write about. I know that my body is slowly failing me and that I drink too much and smoke too much and that I was very proud of myself for quitting both of thoase things recently. But then, I got treated to dinner at a fancy restaurant and really didnt give a fuck. Anf thats my problem. I care too much but dont gve a fuck. But im getting old now. I give a fuck. I really do.

I dfont know whats going to happen to me and I dont know where im going to end up but im scared about being here, doing the same things. Making the same relationship mistakes and just being here birng here bieng here. It hasnt worked before and its not going to continue to not work It's just going to stop. STOP.

Anf that'll be it. I've almost died before. TWICE. That sucked. And I was supposed to be stronger after it. I wqas and then I got stupid again. My body and my will is failing. Dwindling, I should say.

What do I want? What do I want to become. Not this. Not sl;owly dying on the vine while drinking it's wine. I'm 40 years old now. I've been writing my whole life. I like it sometimes and sometimes I reqally hate it. What I want is to live the last half of my life and to feel allright about it.

It's time to wake up. Or just slowly die. That's how cut and dried it is. TRUST ME. THRUST ME.

I'm weak, but hopeful. And, now music is playing that was super emo for me back when I was 20. This fucking song...I was so heartbroken, so in love...really....

I hope you're well.
I apologize for ranting, but thank you for reading the rant that you just read.

It was the best thing that ive written today.