i like cheap cheetos and glasses of vanilla soy milk. and floating on the water.
here's a little task i ask of a few. why don't you send me an email? it would make me smile b/c i am lonely.
today someone's brother im'd me and told me that his brother stopped smoking and that he loved me. and i didn't know who it was or anything. but it got me to thinking. what is up in the great big world?
the sex god said he'd be my sex coach.
summer sunscreen and moving into the sun.
it's in picking up something for the second time. to examine more closely and cradle more gently remembering why it's still there in a special box or in the back seat of the car. i used to keep dumb things. what someone picked up off the ground...a losing lottery ticket, a movie stub, or a piece of ripped jean...and handed to me. and i would hold it in my hand or place it in my back pocket and smile like i'd been given the greatest gift in the world.


i hate when people smoke, it's like steaming shit flowing from the nostrils and being blown in the air for other people to inhale nasty halitosis. and then there are the kiddos that smoke around the kiddos that can't breathe. i can reassure the world that not being able to breathe when you kind of have to hurts like a bitch and makes you want to cry. having to rush home and talking to yourself about calming down while your throat is on fire and your eyes tear up. and the throat sucks air desperately going in for an inch and a half at the base of the neck b/c you just can't get the air. so maybe i don't have a grandparent that died of lung cancer or emphyzema, but why can't i say anything? i too love the tarry residue on filters of stubby burnt cigarettes. and being like, hey, that would really look hot on the inside of my body. i love when the kids with history of lung problems choose to smoke even though someone close to them spent their last few years hooked up to a breathing machine. h-o-fuckin-t. and i love when people spend lots of money a week to support some huge ass killing machine corporation. god damnit, why can't i be one of the cool kids that smoke to form an image? yeah, it is an image for some people. oh, or to keep me company when i'm alone rather than learning to deal with myself. i only wish to be so lucky. stupid fuckers.
end of rant.
a man with breezy hair rode his bike like strutting while sucking on a strawberry popsicle turned sideways.
last night, a man sat on the bench at a bus stop. it was after hours.
a girl walks down the street and her skirt ruffles at the sides while she walks against the wind.
the four of us on decrepit couches sipping tea or sexy deep purple smoothie or coffee with sugar. ali and anthony smoke cigarettes and have private conversations while i harass johnny about the "real" world and ladies and we talk about music and dead birds and photos and smoke and books and beats.
the sidewalk is slightly silent.


josh said, "i should go pretty soon anyways. i have a walking date with spite and the dandelion petals stuck to seemingly everyones hubcaps here."
someone made me feel good tonight.
ludicrosity. between the skinny ass blood brothers up on stage taking turns screaming on one night and the locust wearing hot pants and masks, stank-o and i got about three hours of sleep. oh boys of makeout club, you missed our dumb ass comments. is that real? you can be the captain of our hearts. ahaha. sorry for not snagging a concert poster for you johnny, it would have been two hot things to look forward to i suppose. the sun came up while we lay on her bed. curled up in comforters and slightly delirious. some guy grabbed a girl's boobs in the pit and they got in a fight. demon = chris carraba. damion came over. what is it? absence makes the heart grow fonder. aww, how i missed clipped toenails and greasy hair. the couple and the two of us watched the royal tenenbaums from the couch with the lights turned out. and then sat in the yellow light on picnic tables devouring frozen custard. chocolate dipped.
my skin is still warm from the sun and smells faintly of sunscreen. the cold water counteracting hot sun. b and i lounged on a float while making remarks. our legs frozen in position under water. i rest my head on the side and close my eyes. faded tie dyed towel on a grassy slope and book open to something about shoe polished hair and brown towels. it felt so fresh to be out there. hair pulled back in braided pigtails.
it's like i'm asking him on a date...the awkwardness. but it's just him. and it's trying to be friends again. johnny's coming over soon. i think his hair looked...great...in a ponytail sticking out of the top of his head. i still like talking to him.


who wants to be ordinary? it's a dumb phrase that keeps popping up. sitting on the porch sans light while the fireflies hover and we pull at the grass. organic apple pop tart and a plastic glass of lemonade. i hate fucking night time when the rest of the house is asleep and everyone is away. scrunching up to hold things in. shirt is off and tossed aside. a jumbo pack of charmin and the air conditioning running. and it just keeps getting uglier. when you know that someone's given up. my chest ain't so big no more and we haven't gone by the creek to lay on beach towels and draw pictures.
i've wanted to run away before, but not like this. train hop to someone else. someone i don't know and maybe doesn't exist. different like chasing someone impossible to find. and chord progressions get louder from the shouting overhead. and i can hear it in the distance, steamed engine over endless tracks. engine rumbling a low but audible trail to follow.
emotional prattle.
can you really do what makes you happy? i love you. if you disappeared off to philadelphia to live cheaply and write at a wooden desk and film with cameras, i would still love you. i want to hold your hand. and rub your shoulder and tell you everything will be okay. this too much of a dream. struggling makes you real.
it looks so cliche written down.
are they crickets or is the fan creaking?
ali told us about her dad. and things to make your heart slow. like the codeine i said i would take from her in pill form. you've got to be obsessed with something. and the streetlight is houses away.


we split a tiny pie. it cost us a dollar and had cherries inside. and the frosting flaked and the cake broke and got my face smeary.
tash and i drove in the hills. dark and leafy. and loveline was boring b/c of def leppard.
lunch and misconstrued statements followed by playful teasing and glares of death. spooning almond cream snow cone into my mouth from a white plastic spoon and a white styrofoam cup. i want a friend named cuddles. last night i couldn't sleep. fill the porcelain tub with hot water and lie in the steam until the body can't function. blushed red. slide the body into a robe draping over and concealing only parts so that the fan can rush air about. stretching out the limbs to fill up with imaginary and clawing at flesh. he was right about the different hugs. whether wanting more or feeling more lonely afterwards. i'm warm in certain arms. my mother talked to me before i finally climbed upstairs to collapse.


i had a really great time with john tonight. sarcasm and air bud : seventh inning fetch may not have seemed like the ideal night. but it was chill. and i'm still smiling now.
elaborating on hours of sitting with silver foil and a strong hint of shampoo. four other people walked in and sat as hair fell in pieces to the floor. reading page about throwing on yaya in david sedaris' naked while waiting for everything to shine. and the hair dresser talks about how dubya is a moron to a girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen. glance up with grinning eyes and i agree.


i really have been missing you. im looking forward to seeing you.
i like nice people.


rockin fucking roll. throw in a little tejano techno and it all perks up. get the hips moving and the body sexcited. we lie around in comforters talking about "deep" things. deep things meaning who got laid where or what makes us happy. conversations until five in the morning. eating an apple and starving until spaghetti. it's been a long time since someone has accused me of having it bad for someone else. wouldn't it be nice? a hot new shirt with stripeys. and he talking about sexing it up on the beach. and i'm jealous. the three of us crammed into the photobooth. insert eight quarters and pose for four flashes. we look hot. lady and me.


dandan on the ladies he excites:
touch BOOM


i <3 the liars.
it's stank-o's birthday. she deserves all the lovin' she can get. go give her a special birthday brass knuckle punch.
furrowed brow and angry eyes and empty sounds of church bells over beats that echo into...and i sound annoying...the blathering of silence and the loneliness hangover. fan blades kicking up dust and pens for dipping into india ink. getting darker as the sun sets on the opposite side, the side without windows. feel them prickling the retina the surface and puddling up. and things are gray. cold air and submitting to less than human qualities.
i still want to come back to you.
rusty razorblade sliced paper thin slit through which the blood of concious thought escapes and runs down to a puddle with solitude broken by the drip. inky eyes and minor notes.
deeper sighs. the crying kind. and letting someone know the secret. lonely in the same room.


would the stalker calling my house repeatedly please start saying something scary or breathing heavy rather than wimp out by being silent? it would make it a little more interesting/creepy as opposed to aggravating.
flash flood warning with plastic handled scissors and jumbo gluestick. gluing colored pictures onto graph paper and pressing the letters on the label maker. and it was sunny with the rain still falling. holes and lines cut into the pages of fashion.
paper money and metal pieces. i've hotels on boardwalk and park place.
the littlest gestures. resting his hand on my knee late at night to calm me down. my leg was warm when he opened his door.


nothing worthy of mentioning. dumb cars make dumb sounds when dumb people are driving.
gabe is in town. he rocks. he makes me drive him around while he pretends not to know me.


who loves me?
i wanted it to be you. despite the rainstorm of beer from the second floor and the ogre in front of me, the shins played a good show. today was colored in blue and sad like the hanging clouds in the horizon until little c took me for cheetos and apple juice and yogurt covered pretzels on the rock at zilker park. windy and rustling trees. it was hot indoors and bodies in close proxemics but smiles grew the longer they played. and it was summer in the building.
it makes me sad and magnifies the things that are missing right now. but as cliche as it sounds, i'm free.


it's like something is growing in the back of my mind and confusing all the other senses. i don't know what to do. i hate to sound whiney and i hate feeling alone when other people are around. i remember kissing you on the bridge and it was cold. and then the boy in the room with windows. who matters is across the world. and she's a five minute trip away. last night at the fountain, i kept touching every name or plus sign or initials or line someone deligently carved into the stone with a knife or a pen or a key. i kept touching the change in the texture to feel the past. b/c love seemed to find permanence. so many people. i wondered if any of them were still together.
small things.
the girl mouthing the words to a radio song playing behind the counter. ink graffiti on brick walls and fingering engraved initials and love notes in the rock. metal curves and arches. pen marks on my fingers and always walking five steps ahead. quietly wishing for it all to come true.


permanent markers on white paper and green paint through stencils.
i read the paper at the dmv while lady c renewed her license. let's see...el nino is back, some scientists in new york successfully created a virus similar in symptoms to the polio virus using mail order materials, it's kristy yamaguchi's birthday and janet and justin are dating.
and old man was trying to teach his son how to pick up women and used me as the subject. semi-amusing, very weird. we kept drawing.
rusted out car frames on the side of long stretches of highway that blister in the sun.
i used to have a book on tape about hats that were in love when i was younger. dear johnny fedora and alice blue bonnet fell in love in the department store window. oh they were seperated and wept until they were reunited. as hats for horses that drew carriages.
well, we cruise the town listening to ace of base really lod and throw out our necks dancing soo hard.
i like peaches at the beaches and i want to suck on them like leeches. baby, you so faciches. (facetious spelled to rhyme) peaches teaches me to be speeches...less.
lines parallel and angled and perpendicular forming structure high above the city.
to our surprise, we only saw one rusted out beetle.
it was breezy at the top and we could look down onto the trees.
always smiling in the back of my mind and written letters prepared for sending on the nightstand.


i wake up and the day is half gone.
i saw a boy sitting in the grass of the park painting on a canvas.
how cold is the pool?
i'm putting on a swimsuit before i put on clothes.
three seven elevens, six cop cars, four peanut butter twix bars, three scratch off tickets and twelve quarters. we visited anthony at work and learned that a man lost his fiancee in a poker game while reading a tabloid. stink and i won a buck from one of our tickets but foolishly wasted it on another ticket rather than condoms or a lowrider magazine. oh well. and on the way back down lamar, we looked for volkswagen bugs to give the peace symbol. bug count...zip zero. but the cheetos were a good. and people kept hogging the dance dance machines. overall, quite productive.
it rained a little bit, but the grass was shiny afterwards as the sun sank lower in the sky.
apparently, i change with the wind.


my my what a weekend of crazy shenanigans.
sara and stink and i got hardcore and went to see candiria. we punched with brass knuckles. a man came up to talk to us and it was weird because he just stared at us and the said this is how it happens in the movies. what does? murder? rape? only bad things happen in movies when situations like that arise. shady. the bassist looked as if he were having an orgasm while he was playing and impression to stink sent her straight to the bathroom. and the kids in the pits with ecstatic mosh faces were funny to watch. especially the kid windmilling.
two men walked by covered in foam and tried to wash my car.
we drove to waco. her laundry bag used as a pillow as the signs and cars were passed. lunch at a dive called vazquez diner just off the interstate...but the food was good. we sang along to bright eyes and weezer and nada surf. inside the house we spoke of grasshoppers and spiders and killer bees, followed by a nice talk about perverts at baylor and how much corn austin ate. waco is stuck in the sixties. the buildings retro and decrepit.
stink and i examined the eyes of tammy faye. interesting. that's all i'll say.
you'll want to cry because it's so cute. awwww.


she got pretty twisted up during twister, hands and feet on different colored circles. i let her win pretty pretty princess after i won the first time. eyes intent on the stickered mirror. stopping to sing songs from the sound of music for me distracting her into spinning the dial three or four times. raindrops on roses and soft furry kittens.
i saw a lost dog today. a woman stopped her car to rescue it. just when i was feeling low and the car was filled with sounds of slow guitar melodies and crying voices, something nice happened.
i wore some bug eyed sunglasses while i brushed my teeth. i looked hot.
anthony and i talked while he did his six loads of laundry. it was late and most people were out doing the club thing. spiderhouse was pretty full, so we took a table in the back. he chain smoked while i sipped on a bottled cream soda. it's nice to talk to someone new.
sidewalk at two in the morning with shouting cars streaming by in bits.
new found fascination of machine guns


tonight we will watch fireworks exploding in the sky. follow from the lake to the sky. when the cannons go off the fireworks begin. a symphony performance by the lake as we sit on blankets that cover the grass. picnic dinner and reading into the sunset.
tallskinnypale. marcus is genius.


mishka on ny fashion.
the key to ny hotness is ripped shit. rip some jeans up, wear stripey long-sleeve t-shirts, and get a kangol or some crap
and rip them
rip everything, and burn
get some black shit, and tear up some t-shirts
lots of layered 80s garbage
fishnets = i wanna fuck
get some bomb-ass sneakers too, like some of those pumas that look like aqua-shoes. i was gonna get some.
i am dr. fashion
i was trying to persuade mishka to send me money. a little $pecial $omething, if you know what i mean...his reply:
i'll send something special your way in a little glass vial...
jizz-covered CRACK
that boy is genius.
i like the way you feed me grapes, baby. tres sexy.
i joined l'il tina's club. what is my position? "on the bottom. aww damn." (quote by stink)
it's rainin' rainin' rainin' as we sit in chairs by the window eating fries and ketchup and bulgogi burgers. people walked by drenched from head to toe or carried black umbrellas.
happy hour and fifteen minute belated birthday, dear johnny.
i fixed spaghetti this evening for four mouths that grew into six. tomato basil sauce in a bowl.
while watching space station three-d, i came to see little children continuously trying to grab at things that floated within reach. one kid even tried to jump into the ocean shot. genius work nasa.


mishka and i got in a little tiff online today about who can have the song hot in here by nelly as their summer song.
i let him have it b/c he's the man.
even though i look hotter without my clothes.


i ventured outside to make copies of dancing ladies and mechanical functions at central library. i found myself digging through the big blue recycle bins to find treasure. i found a crumpled poem with typos and cross outs in ink about love. but it switched quite suddenly into something about the taxman and hemorroids. hmm. a lucky girl could be receiving these words of affection and preparation h.
everything is extra green.
the asphalt is home to many things. a large chunk of watermelon almost fullen eaten to the green and white rind. a puddle of orange flowers excommunicated from their vine clinging to a stop sign.
i wrote a letter to my mother today asking her what she would think about everything that makes me tick or cry or mope. i didn't give it to her. it's under the filename confession in my writing folder. but she'll never get it.