Thursday, March 8, 2012


Check out this show! I'm playing in it! Yea yeah.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Gino Citronella

(Yr Lady's Favorite, 2012)

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Sally & Bunnicula 2



Preamble: Lane (my roommate) and I will be raising chickens in our backyard...which is transforming into some SLUM FARM (more details to come...possibly a separate blog documenting the farm's progress). We're building a chicken coop outside, but for now, we got these little chickees in the mail yesterday and they live in the bathroom, like where you would keep any babies.

Friday, March 2, 2012

Friday, February 10, 2012

Pool Hall Stomp

Click the picture of KK playing pool to download the new mix. It's a smattering of music from the '50's til now, fit for dancing, playing pool, and dancing on pool tables. This is my first attempt at something genre related. When making mixes my instinct is to jump all over the map, but I wanted to try and keep in themes. I've got a few more coming your way in the not-so-distant future so keep on the look-out.

Monday, February 6, 2012


Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge (2012)

Thursday, February 2, 2012


This is a flash-fiction lipogram I just wrote. A lipogram is a text that intentionally omits a group of (or a singular) character(s). Omits letters of the alphabet, in short. I wrote this over coffee this morning, and I have no idea why it's about what it's about. The only requirements were that it be around 300 words and omit the letter "I". It's a fun challenge and actually gets you to choose your words WAY more carefully. Enjoy:

Spencer's Apocalypse

Spencer tossed the turned meat at the savage mutt over the fence and landed, a wet slap and a cloud of dust. The dog’s wet nose probed the rotten steak for a spell, then became entranced by an entangled mess of organs and flesh that foreshadowed future pups. Spencer watched the pooch gorge on gonads as the decayed orange sun sank below the aged stone wall. That meat was the last of the food. Grocery stores has been well looted weeks ago and he couldn’t stew up the energy to scour abandoned apartment complexes. He’d just have to sleep on an empty stomach. Once the dark came, Spencer knew the world beyond four cracked walls was a salvo of fanged ghouls and terror-wargs, as hungry as he, eager to rend supple belly fat, or lack there of. No amount of prep-work or bravery could outrun some scabby, feral  nutcase armed to the teeth, sharpened rusty blades grasped by cold claws. Tortured agony follows those who venture out where shadows have no purchase. Spencer had seen these creatures come down on a young boy, who was barely seven. The boy, who Spencer had named Steven, pajama-garbed, wandered the streets, on the hunt for something called “Mummseeees!” Probably the boy’s mother, but Spencer was not one to conjecture. But Mummseeees came not; the shadowless creatures found the boy helpless, wet-faced, and needy. They gave no quarter and removed the boy’s teeth at once. They deconstructed “Steven” soundlessly, and Spencer sat, jaded,  as they reduced the boy to a mere slop of pulp and bone. He took the event as a lesson, an omen even: never cry for Mummseeee. Spencer knew the day would return and the sun would send those cruel beasts back to the rocks they slept beneath. He would have to scavenge then, when boys wandered the streets freely, when meat would roam fearlessly, when Spencer could feast uncontested.

Monday, January 30, 2012

No sympathy.

Chengdu, Szechuan Province (2011)

Saturday, January 28, 2012


Anren, Szechuan Province (2011)

Monday, January 23, 2012

Lone Gunman

Lone Gunman, 2011

Prepare To Believe

I just dug this up. It's a photo-journalist piece (or whatever) that I did in 2007 about my trip to the Creationism Museum out in St. Petersburg, KY. It's riddled with typos and the overuse of exclamation, but it made me laugh and I thought I'd share it. Click the picture below to read the article.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


Blood (A Pseudo-epitaph for Arthur Greenberg.)
Blood all gone
Platelets dead
Blood like mine
I never asked
A creaky casket
Teak not mahogany
Is there a veneer on that?
Piles of dirt
Thudding secrecy
Nails biting wood
Keeping my curiosity out
Barring my identity
But there is safe passage
For the worms
A feast for annelids
As I walk starving
For ancient rituals.
An endless game of telephone
Generations long
Dashed upon the digital rocks
The pulp and bone of memories
Plucked up like carrion
By hungry gulls of change.
Would they be proud that I have broken
Free of traditional chains
Taking up the anvil
Forging for myself
Covered wagon fording the rapids
Leaving my origins for this
Fruitless trailblazing I insist is progress?
Kurt Vonnegut and Marine Park
Chain smoking and Brownsville bodegas
Buenos Aires and Patriarchy
Buried beneath
Earth packed like lasagna
For forty minutes
And deaf to my burning questions
To my doubts
To my shame
Of never asking
After the recipe
Just devouring what was
Set before me
And leaving my plate crusted
Dried flecks of sauce
Like blood
That I neglected
To address.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Open-water whiffle ball was created by Gino Citronella (b. Hunter Francis Jack) on a warm evening in the Atlantic Ocean. Subsequently he has proven to be the best player in the league. The league will be holding try-outs in the Summer of 2012.