Cocksure

Geordy (Joey Kulkin photo)

BENNINGTON -- Wrapping up a post from last night, who can remember which one, but it's not like it matters, but anyway, Alvarez Justineau, that bedeviling little cutie pie, posted a snippet on the social wire in regard to (vîs-a-vîs?) exhaling and leaving it to history. "It" being whatever it may be. I see literary castration long after the world sucks me back into the void. I accept this. People have said to me, they've said, You're a writer, to which I'd respond, Well, no, I write -- I'm probably the second-worst writer in the history of the world. They'd smirk and ask me to name the worst writer in the world, to which I'd respond, I don't know but I'm cocky enough to know I'm better than at least one person.

Then again, I may be deluding myself on that one even.

That all being said, new subject, I'd wear the pants Geordy from Ralph Pucci wore in the gallery 2 years ago. Just stumbled upon it. He walked in and I couldn't take my eyes off that fashion statement. Gotta have big yarbles to pull of that blue. His walk was pure cock. Cocksure is the word, I believe. I dig a strong dose'a cocksure.