After a few more than 2500 posts the Nine is moving to Tumblr. Blogger is RIP. We enjoyed our stay.


I caught a toad yesterday and of course it peed on me but it was a baby toad about the size of a shotglass so I didn’t scream at the pee but I screamed at its initial wriggling it had been so long since ive caught an amphibian and it felt like childhood in my hands.

I brought it inside to show a toddler because we all know that everything adults take for granted is magic to a child and I wanted to be the magician for once.

His eyes grew big and he made little boy exclamations and put his finger out for a touch and it was a brand new world for him and I was glad to be a part of someone’s first time for something even though it was insignificant.

After I brought it out front where nobody was and gave it a proper tonguing and it turned into a giant black dildo and I am still the magician.


i have not been sleeping
which makes me dream while i am awake but at least i am no longer sleepwalking.
also i am so tired i don't answer ppl. i do that usually anyway but now i do it more. i think i am getting depressed from not sleeping. and angry. but like apathetic angry. which can't exist really. i also have really 
perverse thoughts like about drinking pee peed out by a pretty woman. ok. actually i don't. i'd have to be loaded to do that. and then i would only touch the pee. and plus  if it was pee squirted during a nite of boozing the pee would be clear anyway right. and plus who gives a damn if the pee sprays. i only gotta pay for the hotel room. not clean that motherfucker. that job is for some tiny dark woman who speaks a faster language than mine who came here looking for a better life. so pee on, pee-er.

actually i haven't had any perverse thoughts. or many anyhow. mostly my thoughts are about sleeping. and when i can get more than three hrs at a time. i feel like an emergency room doctor. only with no medical degree and future lucrative private practice. 
also regarding the pee slash hotel room scenario:i dont want to go to any hotels on acct of bedbugs. one time when i was single a female i know who is married wanted to have the sex withme. true story. we used to mess around back in the day. but i didn't want her to know where i lived as i knew she was married and oh btw to a guy who owns a karate school ok so i said she could not come over - totally hot lil number with the freckles and dishwater and blue eyes btw - back in the day i pushed her against the wall to kiss her in the student union - this was at like ten a.m. btw - and she immediately put her hand in my shorts and started jerking me off. which was awesome and we went and found an open conference room and did it doggie against a giant oak table and looked over the campus and a cleaning person came in and we didn't even stop and the cleaning person shuffled away after watching for several seconds that felt like tingly lifetimes just kidding. 
but yeah so anyway she said i could come to her house and i said no way i'm not having sex with you in your husband's house and she said we can fuck in the garage and luckily for her i am a totally good guy and also very afraid of ppl who own karate schools so i abstained. 

i'm not sure why i just told you that story. i am friends with her on fb. most girls i fucked longer than two weeks are not my friend on fb. in fact they mostly hate me but i tell them it's misdirected i tell them they should hate the game nawmean just kidding. i'm a complicated guy. i only want you until you want me. then it's curtains baby. 

hey. lemme ask you this. have you ever had a moment where you go omg i was totally fucking crazy for like decades and didn't even know it? like crazy crazy. i mean. not like eating shit crazy. but crazy nonetheless. becuz i totally did. 

it was liberating. like wearing a born free shirt at a Hag concert. Hag btw is the only word i capitalized in this entire post. 

i know i come on here a lot and harangue you. idk what to say about that. i want you to know that you're super special to me babies. no matter what you think i meant by what i said. swear to god i can't think of anyone else i'd rather take a nap with in a hammock on a beachfront hamptons property that goes for like 20k a week. and here is the kicker: the neighbor on one side is a coke dealer. the place on the other side is being rented by two brazilian singers and the hottest tgirl who ever escaped bangkok. even better: they all want to party with your pretty little self oh glory.

last but not least plz to put a 69 code after the number so i know it's you when you page



some writer guy at a reading the other night said he has not read a book in years that made him like wow

like he felt it in his somewherespecial place

and he writes proper asdf and

it is actually better than proper

- he is really fucking good -

and he does not sell any books

and that made me sad

because there are like-wow books out there


and plus

he must not

read the Niner


Strutted out of the building with a song in my head and a fresh new shirt, wrinkles steamed out, new wrinkles setting in, shiny new shoes and your favorite hat and a watch that does not work and that is my silent protest to the world and mail in my hand - a movie and the rent - and the white man walking sign blinked to the red hand flashing and I dashed across, coffee coursing, and I heard the grind of the mailbox door and ugh forgot to drop the mail but my new shirt has four pockets and the mail folded nicely into one and there is not turning back now and I spring down the train steps and swipe my card so perfectly that the turnstile is in awe and I stand at my spot, you know the spot, and I start typing all of this, present tense for the past and the now, and the train is one station away, always, by definition, and I hope to get the same seat yet again, you know the one, and I got it and the train is cool and lovely, makes me feel so fresh and so cleanclean, and my new coffee is quit good, apparently, and I do not like the name because I do not get the "nuts" aspect nor does anyone say "chock full o' " any more (did they ever?) and it was cheaper than the Italian kind I bought last time and it is a darker roast named after this city and it even says on the can that, like this city, it is intense and dark and it is and I like it and the woman across from me is wearing gladiator sandals and that is a trend that I wish would go away. Like the skull and crossbones. Like racism. Like Williamsburg people. Movies inflict much of this on us. 300. Pirates/Depp. The gladiator lady flips big glasses down over her eyes. They are as big as coffee can lids and as dark as the brew. Tortoise shell fakery. Even though I got on the train in my usual spot in anticipation of switching at 14th I think I will ride to W4 and walk through the parks to work and drop my mail off at the post office and buy a croissant somewhere. A woman next to the gladiator is reading a tiny book that is very thick and she mouths the words fast and I guess that it is the Torah but maybe it is the Quran and probably not the bible. A guy next to her looks like Seal without the skin disease and Heidi Klum. Does not everyone wish they could sing? I am loving my guayabera. It is white. A dangerous move for me but I should someday learn how to care for clothing and shoes. A woman who looks like Molly Shannon talks to an old guy with a bucket hat. Supastar! I ordered a couple more guayaberas last night online. I might become one of the guys who wears the same thing every day but not quite the same. Repetition and difference! They make formal guayaberas, as well. A rainbow closet full of them. Linen pants? Why not! No, never. I can only tolerate so much linen. Wrinkle factor, you see. To much labor and to little reward. It is nice occasionally but not on the daily. And not in this city. Maybe Miami. "If you see any suspicious activity on the platform or the train do not keep it o yourself. Your bags are subject to random search by police." Bags are not the only place you can hide a bomb. They fit nicely into the adult diapers of 95-year-old cancer patients. I went to bed early but could not fall asleep even though I was tired. Notes kept popping into my head and I flicked on the phone and shined (shoned? shone?) the light in my eyes and wrote them down. I will sacrifice sleep for that. I had terrible dreams and, worse, I remember them. Very political: Texas and George W. Also violent: fist-fight wrestling brawl with friend. These dreams made me feel even more unrested. I wish I had forgotten them. My friend sent me an email from LA. He saw Barry Bonds in a CVS and I told him that I did not realize that CVS sold human growth hormone. That actually happened. That was not part of the dream. But maybe that is why he was in my dream. Obvious. A guy is wearing a T-shirt with a Simon Says game. Do you remember that game? It was a round electronic thing with four colored panels and the game would play a sequence and light up the panels and make noise and you had to duplicate the sequence. If you messed up it made and awful sound and flashed chaotically. If you got it right it made victorious noise and flashed triumphantly. You could play with friends or by yourself. Aw. Lonely only children. I am writing this on a file on my phone called "Scribble" and it is lagging because this file must be getting humongous. I need to transfer. Done. "Scribble Two" and { More Drunk Pushups }. The T-shirt dude got off but he should not have because Simon did not say so. The saddest lonely only kid toy I ever saw was this football that was cut in half. It was designed to throw against a wall and it would come back to you if you threw a good spiral. Makes me want to cry. Fatherless, friendless boys. Even looking at the sawed off ball is sad. Half. A missing part. Unwhole. "Please do not block the doorways. Let them off and on. Do not block the doors." Nobody listens to that. Did I tell you about flying into the city? Maybe not because we did other things. I definitely did not write to you about it. We soared in at sunset and there we so many clouds and it was so beautiful. Saw the sunset from above and below the clouds and the plane descended under them into a red glow and the sun reflected on the water and buildings and hid behind clouds and peeked back out and it is my stop and I step off the train and an old lady with huge billowy sunset-red pants steps on, no lie, and more gladiator sandals and is not there always a person who runs for the train and the doors close in her face and she looks up and sighs? Farmers market people setting up. Fountain flowing. Pigeons soaring in to peck at crumbs and people chatter random sound bytes of the importance of the events in their early-morning lives. My usual street-cart block charges a quarter less for croissants. A nanny with a melted face. I see her here often. Flowers, a rainbow of scents. The white man walking sign blinks to red hand flashing and I dash and I wonder why I am dashing again. Men wash a wet, lathered fire truck. Woman with a yoga mat. Bird chirping over engines. Dog walk. Sniffing. Pissing but not lifting leg nor squatting and I check for a doggie dong and see one and I have never seen a mandog piss like this and and I dash across another street and almost cut to the other side and I remember my mail and stop and I almost drop my phone and croissant into the mailbox with the movie and the rent. This croissant is not worth an extra quarter.


Hi. I hate it when I can't sleep. And I hate it when every side of every pillow is hot. Also my mouth tastes like sugar right now. It tasted like sugar when I woke up today. My alarm is set for three hours and fifty-five minutes from now. I think I will fall asleep an hour and half before it goes off. Then I can wake up in a daze and the skin on my face and hands will feel gritty becuz I haven't slept enough. And all day tomorrow I will be tired until it is time to go to bed. At which point I will lay there again. Assaulted by fears and failures and conversations with forgotten and or memorized faces. Yeah it's the caffeine but the immobility has been fucking up my brain too. Also the writing. Specifically the lack of. I mean. The words won't type themselves and my disinterested fingers think they are facebook stars. 

Btw sometimes certain ppl get mad when you give emotions to emotionless things like fingers. They say it's bad writing. Idk how I feel about that but I read a lot of bad writing. Mine always feels not bad but as a guy said writing copy is not gonna get it done. Neither is hiding from writing. Right? When I don't write I have to wear a name tag. Or answer some asshole's phone. Or type things in spread sheets. Or wish I was never born. 

I mean. I don't wish I was never born. That's too severe. But like seriously was I born to have a career and a better house than the ppl I laugh at or pretend to not laugh at or whatever and like if that does not work out why do I feel like such a failure? And why am I asking you? And who are you anyway. And why the fuck am I still awake?


A dream: I typed "duck" on my iPhone and it changed it to "fuck."

Sent from my phone, which has awful autocorrect




I always vote for the person I want to fuck.


I drank a can of Dbl Shot and then an iced coffee and then ate a bunch of candy and then watched my team blow the game in the bottom of the 9th and wanted to yell GODDAMMIT but everyone was sleeping so I pushed Melinda against her back and was like a motherfucking walk off home run and she wakes up and goes no way and I'm like motherfucker and she goes I'm gonna go take a shower.

So I decided to talk to you. Hi. How was your day? Mine was awesome. I got covered by ticks at one point. So did my dog. I saw a graveyard for old concrete fixtures tho. And deer tracks. Hopefully I do not get a tick disease. Also. Do you think ticks have a deity? And do you think the ticks think the spiders are going to hell becuz they worship the spider god and not the tick god? And in spider hell are the flies total badasses with iron skeletons? Becuz that would be so badass. Think about it.

Another thing. When you email me and then get mad becuz I don't answer I think you should blame yourself instead. I mean. Seriously. Either text me or message me on the fb. If not I don't know what to tell you. Email is about as effective as smoke signals and jungle drums. One thing email tells me: I don't know you. And I don't talk to ppl I don't know. Specially ppl who have male, albeit foreign, sounding names.

Someone was not very nice to me today. They used my words against me. Joke's on them tho as I am a liar. Not so much a liar as a teller of what a person wants to hear. But that's only if I can get something out of that person. Otherwise it's the cold hard truth, Ruth. Becuz I mean after all don't you feel you deserve the truth blah blah blah and also like totally just having to do with me I mean like lots of shit makes me mad and like so maybe I'll be mad and you'll be all do youlike my poem and I will go dude fuck no poetry is fucking gay and you will laugh like it doesn't hurt your feelings but then later you will make another poem and metaphor yourself to a lonely crane or some other sorry shit and show it to some other guy who is more of a suck up and he will utter the proper sycophanticia and consequently get the ass I so righteously deserve.

I never learn. That is the beauty of me. Str8up dumb. And based on that you should let me do errands and odd jobs around the house for you. You can tell the Garden Club that you don't fear me and one day I can pay you back by having a nervous breakdown in your poolhouse. I'll refuse to come out and the cops can taser me naked. After I sober up I will apologize becuz NA tells me to bless.