up tempo, up tempo, bass...

cocaine and conversation...
free love...
coffee and cigarettes...
janice dickenson you are my mentor...
idlewild...
constantly rolling and rolling myself into a bed burrito, between the sheets and the stuffed animals...
i've got a 99 cent menu too...it includes starchy things...high caloric intake things...fatty acid things...
there will be no sit-ups in class today...they have taken away from yoga ball from overuse..
i'll just keep taking these prescription things that they hand to me Over A Counter and feeling less like i used to...
that's what you call, cured...

Apollo was a whore...

i woke up at seven because my shirt was twisted..and because my necklace was smashing into my clavical...and because the heater had been running and i was wet thru to the sheets...i woke up at seven and after getting a mason jar full of water i lay back down...i thought about how good the fog used to be, dense, Remarkable...i thought about where i was going to live...division of property...the horrifying sorting of the sock drawer...i thought about dead girls crawling on my chest...dead girl scouts...dead cherub faced girl scouts...and their tiny hands crawling all over me...i rolled towards the wall to break up the horror show...the worst time of day is 7.10 a.m....and it doesn't start getting any better until, like 9, at least....

oh my....

unconventional bread making skillz...

last night i had a beautiful dream that it was the end of world...i watched the horizon burn away in a very nicely put together palette of varying reds, oranges, and purples..the cinematography was delicious...at least seven people in hollywood would have had an erection over this screenplay...my very first mushroom cloud; you never forget your first mushroom cloud...then everything went black...and with the black everything went perfectly quiet and still...i heard my breathing...i estimated that i had managed to crawl somewhere inside my brains, inside my marrow..i made a little fort out of my blood cells and pulled something over my head like a sheet should be when you're scared shitless of the things under your bed, in your closet, in the bowels of your horrifying imagination...when i get scared i count off numbers...so i started counting...27...36...15....when that didn't help i started spelling words...my favorite words...t-a-n-g-e-n-t.....e-r-r-a-t-i-c....f-a-c-s-i-m-i-l-e...i listened to my heart beat and i counted and i spelled out my favorite words..until eventually i fell back asleep..by which i mean...i woke up...spelling and counting...i can't remember ever feeling more like a little kid than i did this morning...then i made myself some coffee and basted three eggs with sharp cheddar cheese in my slippers and a green sweater that has never fit me right...i had a cigarette on the back porch...it was just a little after 11..

a fear of skinny fingers...

i've been pre-dreaming my days...clouding it up a bit..charcoal on paper, pet the paper, smear the day...the ink is wet...patience..patience...too hasty! every time...its the same thing...

i have these vivid dreams lately...conversations that go perfectly...wind chimes that sound like raindrops...people i used to know like to visit me in the dark...they like to perch on the edge of the dresser and keep me up all night asking me questions about our lives...monday night an old man i saw on saturday waiting at a stop light came and sat on a chair that doesn't exist in the corner of the room...he would shake me awake if i nodded off...he told me about toy construction..he explained how simple most things were put together..and taken apart...we talked about cars we used to own...
another night, some time last week i woke up talking to my friend darcey...i haven't seen her in 5 years...she's lost a lot of weight and she still really likes to talk fashion...
then there's a man april calls the whistler...she told me he's always been in the house and not to worry because he's never hostile...you cant see him...only from the corners of your eyes occasionally, he lets you catch him running from room to room...like...if you look away from someone swinging a bat and you see the line of color the bat creates...SNAP...its fast...its so fast once you give it thought it's already over...this is how the whistler works...i was fine with her telling me about him always being around, and how docile he is...then she put salt on the floor by the door..sea salt that she keeps her special 'seer' stones in...then i found it around the window...and she shook all night when he and i were chatting in the dark...now i don't believe her...but i don't anyone anymore...not even myself..

i'm listening to a movie in spanish...
note to self: the women in spanish movies laugh a lot...and its always very shrill, painful..and the men are never laughing when the women are...the men are always brooding and walking around town like they have no fucking place to be...all the spanish guys i know drop jokes incessently and rarely stay in one place for very long...
this is part of the reason i don't believe anyone any more...