(the) Philosophy Of Shit

Think... or get off the pot.

I wrote the following words this past week, and posted them on Facebook, during a time of emotional upheaval... 

Philosophy of Shit. 


“Taking shit from somebody indicates a felt need for more shit in one’s life… Giving a shit indicates a history of needlessly taking shit from others… 


To say that I no longer give a shit, or take shit, from anyone, anymore, about anything, indicates that my personal shit levels are finally right where they should be… 


No shit.”

Sometimes Love Can't Shut Up

A spoken word reflection on love...

Sometimes love can’t shut up.  It’s a bad habit that love can’t seem to break... not that it ever tried.  Love always seems to talk at the worst possible times.  Like when other much more deserving emotions wish to say their peace, and walk away.  I swear there are times that love, if it was smarter, would save itself the ass-whuppin’, and just move along.

The Screenplay Diary: "Between Love and Orgasms"... Taking a Turn for the Words

My favorite story (out of many) about the bringing of story to screen is the story of the 2005 Academy Award nominated film Sideways.

The film was an adaptation of the novel of the same name, written by a relative failure by Hollywood standards (author Rex Pickett), ironically about a man who is a failure as novelist. The story also mirrors Pickett’s life as a quasi-alcoholic in search of success in mid-life, after years of failed attempts to break through to mainstream industry acceptance.

Sometimes lost in the story of the making of Sideways is the tucked-away fact that Pickett’s novel was still unpublished at the time it was being turned into the surprise hit of 2004. Director Alexander Payne “discovered” the story, reading the novel in waiting on a flight from Edinburgh to Los Angeles. But for me, the part of the “lost in the story” story that influences me the most is that a finished, but unsold, story served as an industry “calling card” to get the story of Sideways in the hands of the right person to make Rex Pickett’s words make it to the big screen. Which led me to this conclusion...

Muth Labben

Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays

Each one neatly lined up, row on dusty row

Every year the same...

Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows

And the time I sit, because walking is too slow

There is no blame...

Today is for pretending to make sense of the past

From a life ended, with nothing to show

When I speak your name...

Today is for thinking that memories last

But all they do is fade, until they go...

Like every unfinished song to be sung...

About the death of a son.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

I Am Fucked No More

A little FRIDAY REWIND.



A reissue of my final column for a soon-to-be deceased internet venue.  Please follow the link to the beautiful, new Expats Post, the new home of Friday On Friday, and a whole lineup of talented writers.

For now, here is "I Am Fucked No More".  



Epiphany in my time of greatest need

that the shit on which I feed no longer satisfies my empty beggars gut

as it once did

I am whole within myself

and no sorry-ass opinion of my well-chronicled condition

matters now or in the future

as it once did

like before

I’m telling all

from now on

broken gone

I am fucked no more.