Weekly Recap

Well, I skipped a week there but ain't shit to recap anyways. New editorial command at Heavy dried up that gig, but Armchair Linebacker is always there, where you can read my angry and drunken Washington Redskins fandom play out firsthand. This past week, I recapped the loss to the Colts, and talked about how important in the modern NFL climate it will be for the Redskins to concuss more people than concuss them.
Additionally, the dude that be doing Amphetazine is putting up older classics from this site over there (like this thing about Goat Rights vs. Property Rights). Amphetazine is a noble idea, and the other stuff over there is interesting, so you should check it out. I hope I have remembered to put it in my sidebar, but mayhaps I have not yet.
Speaking of which, you can order the book I have a story in (story called Escambia Counties) called Florida Heat Wave, with other projects on the horizon. Everything I do, I have to do all grand and convoluted, so none of these projects are on the immediate horizon, but they are there. I can definitely feel an energy shift of shit about to be changing in the coming year. In relation to that, I know I have a loyal fanbase, but whenever you feel the lololols or enjoy some of my dumb shit on Rojonekku, it helps to click those sharing buttons under every post. I could remain an obscure dude forever and live a long frustrated life, or I could become exploited in exchange for fame and ultimately self-destruct through my own drunken recklessness because of the way my DNA is swirled. You can help me do the latter by sharing links and helping spread my fresh-dipped SS Va. ways to the rest of the crooked ass world. Mad daps to you if you do. And the reason I'd prefer the exploited ultimately destructive route instead of the obscurity route is because one involves dick tattoos and the other does not. It has long been my goal in life to have a dick tattoo, meaning a tattoo on my penis, not a tattoo of a penis. Also relatedly to the new-fangled cybertronic hyping machines of the world, I have the twitters now (@rojonekku) and yes, twitters is the stupidest fucking idiotic goddamn thing ever. Yes. But I am there. And being certain real life people who are Facebook fans are not in the twitters, I find I can get away with saying stupider things there, which of course, just perpetuates what the twitters actually is. It is a bizarre spiral we are in.
Also, Rojonekku t-shirts, hopefully beginning of November, will be for sale. You can always donate money to my dumb ass to buy caffeine-free ginger ale to take my medicines with by clicking the ENABLE ROJONEKKU button. If you give me $10, I'll postcard you back. If you give $20 or more, I'll write you a letter. (Triple N - your letter is on my desk at home; I keep meaning to tear this one page out of a magazine to put in the envelope too but keep forgetting to get the magazine in question out of the camper behind my house after work. John B - I will write you a letter this weekend... thanks bro.)
Another also, this past week I wrote about an Uncle Sinner song in the J.J. Krupert countdown, and actually got an email from the dude Uncle Mike Sinner, who is as solid as his song suggested to me, and fights that good/bad fight with pushing your ideas out to the world through the inhibiting DNA of deeply embedded recklessness and destruction. Anyways, Uncle Sinner has a myspace, and after talking to the dude, I felt compelled to share the link. Check it out.
Finally, I am in the preliminary stages of setting up a monthly event called the CVA WFA or Central Virginia Word Fighting Arts. This is an offshoot of my personal brand of meandering writing - Rojonekku - which is a SSVA (southside Virginia) word fighting art, not so much to fight other people but just generally to fight the entire fucking world and everything that makes life so goddamn hard to handle on a day-to-day basis. It is so easy to just fellate a pistol and cash out early, and I had an uncle of mine do that back in the day and he was one of the most solid dudes I ever knew. But fuck man, when you are blessed with the unlocked creativity flow of whatever medium your brain is predisposed towards, you have to use it to keep yourself from being dead. And if you ain't got it unlocked yet, you have to find that shit. Ultimately that's what Rojonekku is all about anyways, and I should have some sort of explanation for all this on the blog, but I don't. That's one of the projects on the horizon, the Rojonekku Training Manual, which literally what it sounds like, methods and exercises I've used with the semi-delinquent vagabond teenagers I tend to attract to the compound, to put them on the path to not fucking up the world normal-style, where all you do is get put in jail, but fucking it up on that other level, where you destroy norms by proudly being your own form of normal, disrupting the status quo's standards of normalcy. It's an important fucking thing to do, in fact it's imperative. Honestly, I regard my paypal donations as slush funds for just such endeavors, so I don't tell my family about it. Those $20 drops here or there do not go to electric bills or gas for the truck or new ballet shoes for the kid; it all goes on fucked up things. Old Easyriders off Ebay or 17 different world flags that look fucked up to string up along the roadside in front of my house to scare the world or india ink to continue putting raggedy ass homemade stars on my thighs or a box of wine to go hike all the way through the pitch black darkness of the Crozet tunnel through Afton Mountain with my man D-Mo. It generates psychic nonsense for my little corner of the world, which in turn is filtered into more psychic nonsense words - Rojonekku - inside the interweb demons, which hopefully is strong enough to transmit through all the electronic clutter in our lives just enough to spiral your day into a more nonsensical and non-normal way. That's really all I want to do - fuck shit up with words.