Monday, July 30, 2012

Also You Guys

I read a story about a dog that killed itself earlier.


I haven't slept in a long time and my brain is a garbage incapable of functioning.

My brain is octo cowtown/meta-fuck-animal

Austin and I have a priz boo problem.

I found someone I know on a priz boo pen pal website, and when asked how I knew that person it ended in the sentence, "But who makes it out of adolescence without becoming involved in an attempted murder AMIRITE?"


Accidental Ombre

So, the other day I was chatting with my "BFF" about "types" and I think I said jokingly or seriously that my "type" is someone who, "Punches people and injures themselves and cries about their dad sometimes," and he jokingly or seriously said, my "type" was a "prisoner."

"Prisoner, boxer or drunk." Then we laughed a lot and talked about "priz boos," and sent each other a lot of texts like "#prizbooblues" and "#conjugaltrailer."

My other "BFF" texted me about ombre hair, and I naturally made a connection between ombre hair/meth/priz boos. I thought  about accidental ombre hair, and researched it for a long time.


While researching accidental ombre hair, I came across the following website:


I feel like Austin and I spent a good portion of the weekend having our minds fucking blown by it and saying things like, "I'm goin' down to cowtown."


If you're wondering if I got fucking "destroyed" and didn't sleep because I was in the clutches of a cowtown k hole, the answer is yes.

So fucking "pumped" to "take on" Monday.



Saturday, July 28, 2012

I Tried

But, I really couldn't think of a situation where I would say, "There's nothing funny about this."

Completion of a Though in Real Time

Just thought, "I think you're an idiot," and I didn't mean it like, I think you're an idiot as a declarative statement, but rather, "I think you're an idiot, but I'm not sure." Okay, I researched it. I think I sufficiently "researched" you. I "vetted" you. Now I think you are an idiot as a declarative statement.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Butcha Are Blanche, Ya are (Two People, High As Shit, Talking About Mel Gibson)

A: I'm watching Mel Gibson movies, would you fuck Mel Gibson?

R: I don't know lol. Probably.

I mean, how could I pass up that "opportunity"

A: LOL he is probably the best guy in bed

R: I would tell him to say, "You're just a little girl with a fuckin' dysfunctional cunt" lol.

A: Lol jewcunt

R: Lol

I feel like sex with him would be brutal lol

A: And sexy

R: I sort of don't imagine it being like sexy violence...

A: In a way where he might kill you

R: I imagine like a super sweaty, panting red faced dude just hurting you lol

A: Lol

R: With like a vacant yet determined look in his eye

I feel like he can only "get it up" if you're like bleeding or crying

A: Lol yes

R: I feel like after fucking Mel Gibson you can like...never have sex again

Either that or start getting super barred out and "performing" in the kind of porn where someone puts a combat boot on your face and makes you drink out of a toilet or something

A: I'm so high and looked at my txt and it said MelGibson and i, for a second, thought I was talking to Mel Gibson

R: Ahahahahahahahahaha

A: It's like sex retirement

R: Butcha are Blanche. Ya are.

It's me, Mel Gibson

A: Lol what

Lol hi mel

Melly babe, wanna come over and masturbate into me

R: lolololololololololololol


When you said you thought you were talking to Mel Gibson, for some reason it reminded me of the part in Whatever Happened To Baby Jane where she's like, "Butcha are Blanche, Ya are."

A: Lol



Summer Mix

Oz sent me a mix tape to put up and I forgot about it, here is the link:


So Good

It hurts.

A couple only have eyes for each other at a Beatles concert in Wigan, 13 October 1964.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012


When I was a kid, maybe like seven or something, I was told to write an essay about, "What I want to be when I grow up," and I wrote that I wanted to be, "A responsible pet owner."

I wish I could go back to my seven year old self and write an essay about how I want to be fish hooked with mascara running down my face covered in bodily fluids.


But Seriously

One of my Google searches yesterday was, "How did Christian Bale get his amazing figure in The Machinist?"


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Meat Trio

R: What do you think of when you hear the term, "Meat trio?"


What does it mean to you?

R: I hear it a lot regarding pizza, but it definitely makes me think of gang bangs

"Just Sayin"

Jereme Dean wrote a blog about how he thinks I'm a guy pretending to be a girl. If you know me in "real" life, you might think, "LOL, 'she' is not a guy," but how do you know for sure? Here's some questions you might want to ask yourself:

Aren't I a little tall for a "girl?" Not so tall that it raised questions before, but now that I mention it, doesn't it make you wonder?

Isn't "Raye" a "guy's" name? You might think, "But that's a nickname." I mean, is it though?

Have you ever met my parents? If not, you might have heard I had an "insane" childhood or something, but maybe it was really "normal" and you've never met them because I am worried they will show you my baby pictures.

If so,  did they often make you so uncomfortable that the only thing you could do was "Laugh Out Loud?" Did they seem "hella" barred out, or make unprovoked statements about how they only "kind of" like me as a person? You might have organically thought, "There's something 'wrong' with these people," but you probably never thought what's "wrong" might be that their only "beloved" child is a "girl" now.

Have you ever fucked me? If not, how can you know "for sure?"

If so, was it dark, and were you drunk?










Saturday, July 21, 2012

Walking On Eggshells

K: "I don't want to have to walk on eggshells to deal with you."

R: "Do you really think that me asking you not to throw my television set into the wall at 2 AM qualifies as 'walking on eggshells?' I mean that, without even the slightest condescension. Do you really think that's an unreasonable expectation?"

K: "I wanted to take it outside and smash it on the patio. That's what I should have done."

R: "Thank you for clarifying."

Friday, July 20, 2012


Why do people think self negation=love?

And also

Why do people think it's "polite" and "attractive" to choke on your feelings until they become corrosive and eat away your being?


But, I really mean that. It's sick shit.

In other news, I made iced coffee out of instant coffee crystals and a couple of the crystals didn't dissolve all the way and I sucked some up into the straw, let me tell you, it was the most intense thing that's ever been in my mouth.

Feel free to make some kind of dick joke.

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Too Good

I made a playlist of the best 60s or 60s inspired psych/garage/pop. With some help from Nick Heet/Larry. "Sewer Bunnies."



Wednesday, July 18, 2012


I said, "I'm starving."

They said, "What?"

I said, "I'm just hungry, lol. But I'm 'probs' not going to eat anything because it's too much effort."

They said, "Lol. Order a pizza."

I said, "Can't even be bothered dude. 'fuck it.'"

I thought about those signs that say, "If you lived here, you'd be home by now."

I thought, "If I stopped eating 40 days ago, I'd be dead by now."

I guess the point is, if you really want to achieve something, start today, because you might look back on it 40 days from now and wish you had.



Tuesday, July 17, 2012


Would you eat off a plate that sat outside for several weeks covered in cigarette ashes after putting it in the dishwasher?

Just wondering.

I googled "fat forearms" and I couldn't find any photos. I was trying to think of whether morbidly obese people have regular sized forearms. I don't know.

If I'm Being Honest

When I think of aging gracefully, I think of a person who is constantly barred out and drunk on boxed wine spending their dead parents' life insurance on prostitutes, boat rentals and convertibles. I think of a person with a permanently frozen face and a standard poodle staggering, not walking, slurring at an outdoor volume in fur and sequins.

It just seems like that's the only life I can imagine that's not fucking humiliating.

I also feel like my notions of what is "cool" are campy and insane. Like, something out of a 1950s motorcycle film, or what an 11 year old would aspire to. Like, someone who owns an old shitty ass car and drinks whiskey and smokes shittons of cigarettes and fucks a lot of people.

One time when I dropped acid, my friend told me to dress her up "like a whore"  and my idea of what "a whore" is was something from the fucking 1800s. Like in my mind "a whore" hasn't existed for like 100 years. I dressed her up in saloon girl clothes with crazy ass makeup, and she was also on acid and kind of took on the persona of an 1800s prostitute, and kept saying, "I'm just a simple whore, ya see?"

I fucking love that person actually. She always has like a zip lock bag full of different drugs for some reason, and has some crazy story about how she got them.

Like, last year on my birthday I was hanging out at some extremely shitty, bathsalty bar in the valley watching this band and she comes up to me and hands me this pill and is like, "Here, take this, it's mdma. I told some crackhead in the bathroom it was your birthday, and she said I could have two hits if I sucked them out of her mouth."

Monday, July 16, 2012


My friend Glen sent me a handwritten note today on notebook paper. Like the kind you get in trouble for in middle school and addressed it as "Tingly Calliente" lol. I really love getting stuff in the mail. It makes me feel good about being alive. Handwritten notes feel really good. I should send people mail more often.

I wish Glen was my wife, but she only likes gingers and like...I'm pretty sure she's already married to some Asian girl we met at a pot dealing unicyclist's house after drinking between 10-30 lone stars.


Sunday, July 15, 2012


I need to write a "dazzling" bio.

How the fuck do you write a bio for yourself?

Rhetorical questions.

Do you want another reason to feel disgusted by human existence?

This shit is for you. Raye Jackson loves writing almost as much as she hates herself. You can find her any evening, somewhere in America, seconds from passing out in a puddle of her own puke. Get your ticket early folks, cause this bitch is a born and bred star.


Seriously though, how do you write a bio?

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Text of the Day

@_________________ "On estimate, how many times have you analed a pay for sex situation this week?"

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Feel Good Hit of the Summer

The Loneliest Whale in the World.

In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem: She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by. Just imagine that massive mammal, floating alone and singing—too big to connect with any of the beings it passes, feeling paradoxically small in the vast stretches of empty, open ocean.

Via Eric Bowley Tumblr

Wednesday, July 11, 2012


If I lived alone, I don't think there would be anything stopping me from taking a large knife and jamming it into my chest cavity

But I don't/it's fine/LOL/LOL/LOL

Sunday, July 8, 2012


Dude, so, this is a true story. I heard this noise, and I was worried because it's 3 AM, and it sounded like someone peeing outside. So, the sound stops, and I say to my mother, "What's that noise?" She said, "It's me peeing outside," while laughing hysterically.

I said, "I thought so, but like, why are you peeing outside?" and she said, "Because I felt like it. It's nice out there," still laughing hysterically.

Then she used a like, mocking, baby kind of voice, "What's that noise? What's that noise?" over and over.

Friday, July 6, 2012


The schizophrenic guy in my neighborhood like shot his family or something earlier.




Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Monday, July 2, 2012


I tried to write something earlier about the way I feel my relationships with other people have always functioned, but this says it better than I ever could:

"She looks at herself instead of looking at you, and so doesn't know you. During the two or three little outbursts of passion she has allowed herself in your favor, she has, by a great effort of imagination, seen in you the hero of her dreams, and not yourself as you really are."

Le Rouge et le Noir (1830)

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Perhaps My Last Thought Before Bed Was....

"I just want someone to give me a lifetime supply of heroin, and if I play my cards right, 'lifetime' could easily be just one day."


So, I think, I finally found a phrase that, ugh, "sums it up" for me. "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

I think, maybe, get the fuck out of here is like...the emotion I feel most often, when someone is talking to me, usually, I might be thinking, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

I think it's really versatile. I think you can read it in a lot of ways. I think sometimes It's a nice sentiment, like, "Awwwwwwww, you're being so nice. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

Sometimes it's like, "You can't be serious. STFU, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."

Sometimes it's just literal. You know? Like. literally, "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE."


I'm not asleep at 4:18 AM because I think I have serious, crippling, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE anxiety about like 20 different things right now. I want to tag something to the end of that like, "my life is_________________." I don't know. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.