hey! looking for Awesome Show, Great Job!? Click here

thanks charl@VILLE for alerting me to my new perm. vacation:


and relatedly how could i’ve missed this acrylics video until now [PUNCTUATION NEEDED] [youtube=]

another digitally screwed unstoned turn: i mean no stone left unturned, was this guy, used to be now is I’m sure I’m getting that wrong but it’s about the most intentionally baffling thing, best thing, I’m sure there are links (IN THE CHAIN) i’m missing, an encrusted reference-necklace I don’t have enough lycheerupees to buy, but i need to clean the kitchen, I’m ruining my saturday night–

I’ve never been to Mexico. I might go soon! Please Let me know if you have any recommendations.

  1. woke up and went to  the bathroom
    this is an simple process of just standing near water and liquids fly from your genitals. simple remedies are aboundant .

2. went to the bathroom over and over again
it’s normal to pee and shit fifty or fifty-five times a morning. put rosemary in your potatoes to aid digestion. diahhrehea is not a disease, nor even a nuisance.  there is social stigman attached,  be sure to “remove-it”

  1. comedy flavor
    lots of ivy league grads go into comedy instead of finance, literature, or etc
    -=- if something bad happens, make a joke out of it
    -=- if you make a mistake, play it off like a joke

4. shave that shame off of your face with a RAZOR BLADE
It’s the green-tea enema of your generation

5. hardcore punk from the bakersfield, ca area
talk about cognitive dissonance! Dude, If anyone makes you feel bad about your breath, or your gas problem, just look them in the eye and listen. if you r eyes well up and  cry , ok. give them a gift next time you see them — check out this new anthology of “swinging swahili rhumba” from the 80s, maybe they would like that…

6. all your friends are drunk or on acid in new york city, making observations
are you kidding me? youth culture was invented to make money. it’s easy to drink beer and maintain a ripplin’ six-pack. it’s like the old jazzman who doesn’t practice anymore, because his gigs are his rehearsals: sleep yourself fitter

The Perfect Salad

the perfect life

notes on a salad


home made

I’m just kidding •

the lowercased personal pronoun i •

bell hooks, the real person •

if i hope to make money off my online web-diary, which I do, I’d better start occluding my alcoholism better

Just kidding. “Pain sells.” So do cartoons

Don’t ever make plans verbally — it’s important to send a written communication. That way there’s a paper trail — even if that paper is electronic

You don’t have to read every sentence in the novel. Or: you don’t have to read every sentence carefully. Some of the sentences are dead-wooden conveyances to the living, juicy sentences. Just plough through, dog. It’s way better skidding blindly across a few panels and reaching the end then it is to read the first third really carefully and never finish.

This novel is about the thirty carp in a tank in my home. Each one has her own story. We’ll start with Bram, my first carp. The last carp in the book’s named Penny.


Oh, shitty carp. My stomach sang like a cell phone.


Forget the other carp. I hope you fall asleep soon.

Thanks for visiting the blog again. I hope you don’t catch all the bad twee viruses here. Your computer probably has good virus protection software. I seriously think you’ll be fine.

fake poem for bena

your comb not blown wise
till shadows crêpe the moontide of 10:58.
Don’t resort to me, this bean, bena
not gullied by the breakers
or blossomed into corn
or cows…

old bar stamp, cower into place
with racist wisdom
and a harpoon grave filled with salt.

Nudity can be bargained for.
Tell us your joke.

The moment you post your poem,
A furious, shivering prostitute
on Twitter
will crawl from her harpoon’s grave straight into Forrest Gander’s glasses, which hang in his
Room illumined only by the laptop’s display. Army of cats from poetry.

The New York Times Book Review
was built on experience.


Follow her jeans to Pitchers, and watch the Camel
Lights educate themselves,

just kidding,
Oberlin College Creative
Writing Department,

just kidding,
O Bena,

seriously, etc,
nightblogging the nineties

And The internet has that song stuck in its head.
Comma-splice smells like penis.
Professor of poetry replies,
“There’s no such thing as a fake poem.
“I’ll timidly beat your face until
LITTLE MARZIPAN: Until it resembles the shovel you’re beating it with

[Now is a good time for a sip of water. ASK SOMEONE FOR A CUP and drink from that. Don’t open your Nalgene during the reading. Unscrewing the top makes that molded-plastic cave-sound, Mac McCaughan’s mouth forcing its way around a crusty Bánh mì—ah, life!]

Lazy violence.

Necklace as breakfast food
or Infancy as crime.

I feel like you’re obliquely recalling jokes from 30 Rock and adding line breaks — right?
I dunno. Not precisely

Lorin Ipsem

Quilty is my name! Happy birthday, Toadstone Tombstool! It’s Toadstone’s birthday today. Grape mere crackers. TK. You’ve got another hour or two to send Dennis Cooper’s blog a present. I sent him a “crazy” one! Drop-cap hat-tip to mcmouthman. This paragraph is more or less just lorem ipsum to see how this drop-cap looks. Looks nice. Peach pickles is the cracker’s souffle. I put your advisor in floppyjail. Nudity = overrated. Nut allergy? G’night!


When I was a toddler I once witnessed a dancer hold a cocaine-encrusted cigar up to the sunbeams falling through the skylight. I saw it glitter before a background of exposed bricks and pipes.

Just kidding!!

I feel dumb not being more “open” on this blog, with an “about” paragraph floating in the upper-right with something to the effect of “Hello, my name is Quentin Levy. This is my personal website. I’m a freelance librarian living in a mouldy duplex in Pleasanton, Calif., with my girlfriend, Betty Richter, and Jean-Luc Pouncey, our pet ferret. I’m the author of Thesis Mountain, a young-adult novel about an anthropomorphized, learning-disabled copy of the Partisan Review accused of rape in a small Midwestern town. Purchase it on Amazon here.” But I won’t because I want to be able to make off-color “erotica” jokes that don’t reflect the views of anyone at all, including myself. And you can’t do that with your name attached to it…? Even if it’s fiction? Because then you get fired?

I wrote a short story — flash-fiction-style — called “Child Pornography,” which was “accepted” by the Fanzine! Then I freaked out that in ten years I would be applying for a job tutoring toddlers in Language Arts and the administrators would autogoogle me by looking at my hands (that’s how you google people in the future, just look at their hands) and my first hit would be this gem of my juvenalia, the short story “Child Pornography,” and I wouldn’t get the job, which is a volunteer position anyway, and my family would be devastated. So I asked the Fanzine to change the title to “Erotica Without Borders.” That didn’t work so I changed it to “Teen Sex.” They published it as “Teen Porn.” OK. Here is the URL for the story:

That’s all for now! I miss California, even though I’m sitting in a chair in California.