bodies moving and stretching. on cycle or bench pressing. i've been here three days. i wear jeans to class and carry a card to get into places. and we kick back on my bed to watch movies. benny and i shared a chocolate moo'd at jamba juice and commented on faces that get prettier when someone smiles. anthony walked past our outdoors table and talked with us for a bit. it's been awhile. chocolate banana shake and french fries from the cafeteria. gabe and i constantly rag on each other and tash makes faces at me in three dimensional design. we've got colored posters on the wall and blankets to keep us warm in the freezebox that is our room.
i spied out my window last night and watched a guy serenading a girl. voice and strummed chords drifting through the walls. i'm in bed reading some book edited by nick hornby. that lamp is on and the pillows are propped.
meet me at the clubouse. the camera crew is following us and filming our feet butchering dance dance. but it's all good. beck's new album makes me mush.
the university put on some orientation dealy for freshmen...so we can sing the fight song and watch a monsterous texas flag fly down the top of the building. oh i shed a tear...psyche.
my skin grows red hiking up asphalt hills.
everything is hung in the closet and folded into drawers.
i miss my ladies.
i eat sandwiches and krispy kremes.
the tables are carved into and covered in ink and paint that chips off under fingernails.


well beck's a hot kisser and the elvin metal we played on the way up was pretty amusing. so overall the trip was good. we sat in chairs as beck sat under red and blue light wearing red pants, red shoes and a magenta shirt. acoustic guitar and beautiful voice filling the room. harmonica blues cover of hank williams, a little bit of outkeast thrown in with lulling lyrics of it's all in your mind and jackass. ben and i kept leaning over to each other to sigh over his voice. and stank and i held hands and wept into handkerchiefs. he's got a tiny body. the only white boy that can dance. he teased us with robot moves. pretty face with rosy cheeks. and there were nitemare hippie girls dancing up front. three encores and the golden age. plastic child's guitar and latin beat that sped up suddenly. where tourist lie and decay. like our hotel in snob central. two meals at central market. the room is muggy but we're smiling, lost in song. almost like lazy flies hovering above. yee haws from me and oh yeahs from beck, thick and deep. he felt like liquid sunset. and he's my radical rockstar boyfriend. mmm.
reaccurring images of bruce.


tonight i have a hot date with my husband, beck. he likes to sing me songs about tourists, deserts, paper tigers and cold brains.
stank-o, ben and i are staying at a hotel in dallas. we're arriving early so we can milk it. pool, masseuse, food, and free towels...hey, you take what you can get.


i know my mommy loves me. but brussel sprouts, meatballs and plain rice is not exactly my ideal meal.


princess was not cooperating on the fourth floor of the parking garage and had to be towed for smoking. we climbed stairs to the roof of the condemned reddy ice building on red river. trouble is brewing. open shutters and cameras flashing, lights blur onto colored film. we laugh a lot.


i had a dream. and he was in it and we went to sleep without clothes. and his body was smooth with mine.
stank-o and i stayed up last night being ridiculous babies.
swimming at kreuse springs and playing frisbee in the water. it comes down from the cliff, raining cold water through green plants. ben and i got wet.
microwave meals. bouncing and deviance in the car, making naughty phone calls with counterpart. and we laugh dancing in the car on the highway, making faces and busting moves to nsync and bis. we sing sofly and moan loadly and do our soul twin handshake. then off to bed we go.
sort of.


i've been wearing pyjamas all day and my microwave spaghetti is done.
it's a wooden table that i rest my elbow on, my chin slightly smashed by the hand that is cradling it. someone is across from me, talking with brown eyes and moving lips. he's describing some book he just finished called everything is illuminated. something hot of the ny times best seller's list and something i've never heard of. my chair is wobbly and i start rocking back and forth...enough to break his concentration, causing him to ask if i'm all right. i nod, sort of. i start tracing patterns in the wood with my finger and notice that this week i've managed to knaw off most of what would be a nail. he moves his hand and covers mine. it is warm and larger than mine. i notice his nails are nice. in the corner of my eye i can see him watching me, blinking at intervals, but still watching me. i glance up to meet his eyes and he moves my hair out of the way and places it behind my ear with his free hand. he tells me i'm pretty and runs the side of his fingers down my cheek. they're soft and i nuzzle in to them for a few fleeting seconds. the music overhead changes from the velvet underground to something that i can't recognize straight off the bat. he motions to the waiter with raised eyebrows followed by the lift of his chin. i like his chin. i can tell he hasn't shaved for a couple days. he takes his hand away from mine as the waiter places our check onto the table. fifteen dollars and fifty-seven cents. i sip water from a clear plastic glass as he takes a worn leather wallet from the back pocket of his khaki colored courderoys and places a ten, a five and three ones underneath the receipt. when he stands up he offers his hand and i take it. we start walking towards the door and just as it shuts behind us, he pauses and turns to kiss me on the forehead. he wraps his arms around me and i can hear his heartbeat. we're like this for a minute or so before he releases, takes my hand again and leads me to the car.
if i were to get rich suddenly: an essay on why kelly should win the lottery or become famous for her good looks or have people hand her thousands when she walks down the street
if i were to become rich suddenly, i would visit people on a whim. i would not own my own jet. i would fly coach so i could sleep on couches. i would live in a shack with a comfy couch and a soft bed and no tv. just a radio which i could tune to national public radio and a laptop where i could make pretty pictures and write on topics that strike my fancy. there would be a guest shack adjacent to mine for people who visit. we would blow things up for fun and eat dinner on the beach.
the end
sometimes i wish romaticizing plans worked.


out in the sun and i feel wet. jumping into cold water and holding onto a gray float in the middle of the pool. johnny and ben and i paddle about in the water and laugh about things and attack each others body parts in secret. wet drippy hair and spotty glasses. hot sun and tanning back with freckles. stretch out on colored towels, eyes shut to block out harsh gold. songs on acoustic guitar and harmonica harmony. fuck off.
i got stuck driving again. the three of us sticking to our car seats and slightly singing along to songs inbetween enthralling conversations about internet hookers. lady c and matty k. "oral sex is delightful." "two years!" the anniversary is playing and we all know the words.
we paid our seven dollars to see the animals at the zoo. matt's afraid of snakes but quite enjoys watching the monkeys. eating ice cream and laughing about phone sex. animal pee made us giggle. and we slumped onto green park benches. mozart meets einstein in tamarins that fight each other and pull hair. matty got a yellow wax lion and placed it on his shoulder, looking stoic and regal. i tried to get cristina to ride the elephant with me, but it didn't work out to well. little gazelles and lounging lions and tiny tree frogs and flapping pink flamingos. we hid in the shade of green plants.
dinner on the riverwalk at some texan restaurant. bees attacked our sweet drinks so we covered them with red cloth napkins. heart attack on a plate and waving at tourists in boats with cameras flashing. some crazy guy spilling ice cream on his shoe. matt is moving to new york.
seats in the full reclined position and the radio tuned into an eighties station while we talk about tim dawns aka brian, beefheart and beck. "do you like to party?!? i love to party!!"
flashing brights at assholes that tailgate me. matt and stank cowered in their seats b/c i played the road rage game and they could have gotten shot. but no dice.
i don't want to say goodbye.
johnny met us at spiderhouse. the four of us laughed in and out of coherence and vandalized public property. making music with empty bottles and whispering about the couples that sit on the bench across from us. stare through the bottles and the colors blend together. cuddles and our one week annivesary and johnny's curly hair. matt is playing with my green rubberband bracelet and sipping on his orange soda. obsessing over "the badass" whose hair is licked by camels and whose shirt is unbuttoned three buttons. windy and smiles. tiny flashlight makes ctirus marks through bottles.
i'm glad to know you.


"you know you really were blessed with a hot rack"
aren't comments like this sweet and endearing? oh the fans i make.
chocolate hazelnut cake, two rootbeers in brown bottles and water in a brown styrofoam cup. rolling over laughing and intensely studying red stickers, scraps of papers and written letters. everything lit up by colored lights that magnify the gleaming eyes and smiles.
bouncing to beats by blackalicious. alphabet aerobics. it's too hot. but we're rubbing up on one another and laughing at the hands thrown in the air.
matty with fries. and i'm swiping them from ben adjacent and dipping them into cream gravy. and sharing cinnamon chocolate shake with stinky. two straws and deep longing gazes into two beautiful eyes. ahaha.
we came by late last night to drop off a package of pictures glued to graph paper and crayon drawings, a letter written in black pen and pictures of dr. doom. and you opened the door and we were taken aback. ahh fine asian ass. johnny and i looked at your pictures and listened to your stories. and i smiled.
someone calling for keith and ended up with santa claus. yes, i babysit elves and i'd like to know if you want to play another game, b/c we've both been naughty this year. prank calls are the best when you hand them off to your "manager" who yells "santa mother fuckin' claus?!"
singing softly to ourselves.
the kitties are playing in the kitchen.
benny is home!!


a hundred and two or something. american analog set remix and electronic sounds bubble throughout the car. it's hot to look out the window, but nonetheless we step out into the swelter to step in to the airconditioned haven. there is music wrapped in plastic. there are cheese sandwiches placed on plastic circles.
i think we're alone now, there doesn't seem to be anyone a-rou-ound. i turn around to smile at matty as we sing along to tiffany. he's leaving on saturday. and that makes me sad. it's hot in the shade singing along to bright eyes. voices wavering and opened boxes of film.
can we go swimming?


mother fuckin' hot snakes. it was one heck of a dance party. i play punched johnny and some guy walked over and told me that "seeing the skinny arms punch made me want to take you home with me" and he proceeded to pull me over. but i got away. wiping sweat on each other and feeling so hot we could barely move. a wet dripping sauna. supersonic. boy with a white studded belt and black tank top had skillz and his way with the dance floor. beehive and the barracudas were hip to the night in sunglasses and tee shirt bandanas, dances and axl kicks. and another guy told me that i wasn't busting out my "supermoves" when the hot snakes really rocked out, so i let it all out for the encore. all the tiredness, the heat, the sweat, the claustrophobia and all concious thought gone with the exception of movement and music. then i gave him a saucy point as we exited. black permanent marker tattoos. sparkle sequined silver headband. collapse into the back seat and wonder where things are going.
my ears are ultra sensitive. the sheets hug my body tightly.
"their direct and dynamic facade often belies a sensitive, emotionally complex, even troubled inner life...doers as well as dreamers...they can love deeply and passionately."
we went to lunch and he's leaving for school on saturday.
"usually, he pulls me in for the hug, but now i do it. i pull him in and we stay like this, his chin on my head, my face on his chest."
exhaustion induced dreams. and you came to visit. you kissed me on the cheek and i smiled. but then she kissed you on the lips. and that was that.
i woke early and placed things on tables, old things. and hung clothes on hangers. sat on a pink nylon lawn chair and raked in the dough. ali's neighbor, ethel, came over about four times. and everytime she asked the price she would follow the answer up with the question "what's wrong with it?" and the woman that bought my blocks looks after little kids. and we both agreed that blocks are the best toys. i miss my blocks. red squares and green square rods and yellow round rods, blue rectangles and assorted purple shapes. we used to makes zoos with the block.
a deer in headlights. a dear. do my explosions mean anything to you?
i stayed on the couch watching milos forman's scandalous, valmont.
four hours of sleep.


themes for the day:
shootin' the shit
obsessing over the term "freak nastay"
searching airline sites and the greyhound site just in case i feel like running off
getting a phone number from a boy who when we met him left in what we think was disgust
tomorrow's goal: buy an asiago cheese bagel and rot brain watching that real world lost season movie. oh, and perhaps get out of the house.


mischief by obey giant poster wheat pasted onto an abandoned albertson's. and a church brought up the question and the solution. sagging? need a faith lift? it's hot in this house. and the shadows are growing longer and the sunlight richer. i bought our tickets to the hot snakes dance party. of course a beach boys song comes on and attacks my body into swaying like a palm tree on the beach. it's not by choice i tell you. reading stories on the couch, wishing it was time to blow dandelion fluff into the air and watch it float away.


what do i hold dear at ten o'clock in the morning? nothing. well maybe, the view. that's a sick thing to be watching in the morning. i've decided i want a cushy job like that. i could be the next lisa ling. and what was up with star jones' hair today? looked like flock of seagulls meets a planting pot. oh man, their next guest has never successfully had an orgasm during intercourse! what would a morning be for without this crew of ladies???


dirty t and i revved the engine to zztop and the extended version of safety dance as we headed through the heart of texas for a mini roadtrip to podunk town, hunt, to pick up l'il tina. we passed cows, bison and longhorns in fenced in fields. comparing asphalt and looking out for highway signs as the sky grows darker with rain. a little bob dylan, some sunshine club and random sputterings of stories passing time. tractors and roadside peach stands and rows of wildflowers. eighty miles an hour sipping on minute maid orange soda.
we pass mock stonehenge and easter island statues in a field with a trailer. almost immediately after, we reach camp waldemar. this is where the rich people send their kids. this is also where cristina shacks up in a shed as a counselor. the trip back is shorter and the branches of highway trees drip further over the roads. singing along to the toadies and laughing our asses off. a little side trip to a dairy queen for ice cream and french fries. dairy queens grow like weeds in texas. i think we should have stopped at the restaurant with a life size pink cow statue resting horizontally in a tall glass of ice cream with whip cream and chocolate syrup. the tank empty and behind us the sun is setting.


heart attack inducing chili cheese fries. four people, bad radio music and a desire for adventure. stealing baby clothes from some family whose gifts were placed into the wrong hands. tash cuddling with sniffles the elephant and rich the boyfriend. johnny performing some sort of spastic chair dance and walking funny after being kicked in the family jewels. and dirty t smoking cigarettes and bringing up the worst conversation topics. everytime i come around, bling bling. warm under the blanket in a cold house. shaking it to outkast and groaning along with silverchair. it's just not the same, tash.
you're beautiful. and you're boss is an asshole.
well, he's got a fun personality. and there was this huge attraction. and i'm talking about it and sounding stupid.
yeah, i'd run away to baja to surf all day. someone would have to teach me how to surf. but i would do it. i'm seeking that distant place. the ability to leave it all behind and be somewhere new. i could mail picture postcards of the pacific sunset or an important town building, inking messages about the surf or some prostitute on the street and that i am doing well. always doing well. and outside when the sun droops into the horizon, i'll be laying in the grass looking upwards as it fades from bright hues of blue into different shades and stars appear as holes in the blackness. or maye i'll lay on towel on the sand hiding behind shade from the rocks above me. making words work.
the last bowl of strawberry kiwi jello is gone from the refrigerator. constructing cubes from paper instructions.
everyone is asleep b/c of last night. and if i get off the computer, i can't even watch the tv seeing as how it's been claimed.
i know it knocks you off your feet.


johnny and i laughed over ken's donuts as he sprayed a fountain of strawberry milk in my direction. i hadn't bathed in a couple days and he, well, he always looks gross. harassed a few innocent souls, looked at "portraits of past" (a ha ha), and giggled about ass.com (our own creation). the last few days have been pretty isolated so i'm glad he headed over here. ms davis falling asleep and the kid in the pink polo paying allen three dollars for the research project. ms johnson's mic and the chihuahuas. ahh good times good times.