i step into this room and open my mouth to talk
but seem to have forgotten all the thoughts i've had over the past twelve hours
so instead of saying anything
i just put on some music
and blow my brains out
i mean
literally
i sit like a drug addict
staring off not blinking
listening to this
so happy i'm almost dry heaving



two people
one man stands up midsentence and asks me, are my pants on backwards
he turns and i see the zipper in the back and say, yes sir they are
he tells me he's tired his wife is out of town and he needs coffee
i give him coffee

an engineer talks to me for twenty minutes straight, no breath
telling me an array of engineering tales, with terminologies i don't understand
he assumes i do
yeah.. yeah.. oh!.. yeah.. wow.. huh..
i become so awkward within myself i begin stabbing my thumb into my side
as hard as i can.
the only word i remember him saying is mathematics.
mathematics.
and i thought, that is a really good word
repeating it in my head quite a few times
amidst saying, yeah.. hmm..
mathematics.



now i'm electric
motherfuckahs
you can't stop this
mc suckahs

get your damn hands off my microphone
give it to me
it's gold chains property.

oh! gold tooth in several days.
bitches.

letting life be what is wanted
i hear what i need
aint nobody else gonna lay it all down
aint nobody else gonna tell me the truth
all i've found is the world is a liar
when it lies i say
how do you do
shaking hands and i'm
full well and aware.
praying more for myself
sleep less than i should do
they say
you done loss your mind
i say jesus.
integrity
and where is the wisdom
all i want is to be still.

{i keep a close watch on this heart of mine

i keep my eyes wide open all the time}

forget i said anything.
i told you everything.

birthday.


it takes a second
always and many
more before it's recognized
the descention of memory
running its course
the ways and hows
of was
and what are we forgetting

nostalgia overwhelms
the strongest state of mind
bad and good together, everything else
and everywhere else it follows

the scent of skin still in me

stored away, locked up
colours and the current
of tiny hairs streaming along the face
down the arm
the back of a neck
i know them better than you.
believe me.
pardon me, i did

and where the bones were placed so properly.

the condition of my job situation, has rapidly gone from bad to absolute torment. the end of my shift involves a strong urge to crawl under a table, into the fetal position, and weep, while slowly rocking back and forth. which is unfortunate. all i do is serve food to people. and i'm good at it. stating this and knowing the truth behind it makes me question whether or not i should be ashamed of this life. that i know so much about eggs. ways to prepare them. i talk about eggs for twelve hours a day. and somehow, still manage to enjoy eating them. there are points within the night where i find myself completely aloof with madness. i just stand in front of the grill for about thirty seconds saying the word "eggs." speaking the four letter word in a manner of desperation. reminiscent of a marlon brando screaming stella. madness i tell you. just madness. lately however, i've been increasingly depressed about being at my job. i desperately try to snap out of it. but from time to time i find myself hiding in the bathroom, smoking cigarettes, staring into the stained mirror, crying to myself. calling my mother and telling her i think i'm dying all the time. i have cancer. i just know it. so apart from being depressed, stressed out and in a terribleplace, and frantic about life, i constantly have death looming over my thoughts. then the crazies come in, and i realize, well, if the cancer doesn't get me, these bastards surely will. what is the statistic probability that i will be shot or stabbed. or asked out on a date. or told i am "sexy." what does that even mean. i absolutely despise flattery in the work place. or anywhere for that matter. how can someone simply look at me and then say, "i would like to take you out." or "give me your number." or "hey, i been lookin fer somebody to be lickin.." oh really? that sounds like such a good time, honestly, i would just love to partake in such a romantic experience with someone i've never met before, who's probably old enough to be my dad. gee whiz that sounds like a swell time.

but now all of that is over for the night. and i sit in the shade slowly devouring giant hunks of fruit. it isn't that i'm eating daintily, or gracefully taking small bites of pineapple from a larger portion, no, i'm thoughtlessly and very slowly shoving huge pieces of fruit into my gaping hungry mouth. almost catatonically. staring off into the brick wall in front of me. realizing i will sleep soon, and then wake, put on my uniform and walk right back into that same cement box to serve fried goods. doing the world a great disservice. one waffle at a time.

my body is fucked.
but i finally got some sleep.
another day another difficultly earned dollar.
lymph nodes swollen.

what's the use of figuring it all out?
i'm a question mark.
a walkin talkin questionmark.


life may sometimes be sad, but it's always beautiful.

hot flashes begin to feel there is no validation of this womanhood.
what is a waste of time anyway.
where does it lie
in bed with me?
or not now, no,
who knows.really.
maybe apathy strikes again.
just one more thing to think about.or not, for now,
i have no idea.
having begun this silent game with my own head
we are almost separate
and i know what it wants
every sense of satisfaction
the well-beings.humans. homogeneous.
so the essence of biological living within me wants-
and it wants a lot of everything,
to all of which there are two sides
each double-edged sword
i might be learning to read the lifesigns
but in all reality they change with the day
minutes like strawberries
all beautifully red, and sour or sweet depending
when will all of this ripen.
stripped down.
settle down in the snow.
go to white.and nothing.

exceptionally tired now but peaceful. feeling fine albeit achy, not too much to take care of. i would like to recap. check my progress as this person. be confused by the brains strategies. knowing they are there. is the brain one giant justification of itself? how is it even possible for us to study ourselves. how bizarre and seemingly impossible. ohwell. i'm missing my favouites and loathing the fears of insecurity. a bit worried i've said too much or something. i should be quiet now, yes? and let this pass, cease the act of speaking while simultaneously scared of introspectiveness. or at least too deep a dive into it. maybe it's just the monotony of days tugging at the right side of my brain. or the slight desperation talking into my left ear. but the hope i have is a curious thing. i want to wear more dresses. red ones. i should. i will. maybe some green and yellow ones, too.

there are crazy christians afoot. firing the sacred souls. shooting them between the eyes with southern hospitality. saying we are god's chosen people, and no one does a better job than us. we are the blessers of benefactors. these bastards of beasts. knitting a blanket over truth over themselves. wrapping up in the warmth of close-mindedness. i'm being melodramatic. half truths always. if i could only be so eloquent. i'll probably just end up saying, "you're a fucking bitch, and no one likes you." while violently gesturing with my large hands. i should paint my nails red too.

anyway.

the moral of the story is, it's almost finished. i'm confused and excited. perplexed because i've become so peaceful. then confused by peace, i'm getting frantic. oh woe is me. not really. no. really. seriously. i just diagnosed myself with an unfamiliar disorder. i'm sure you've never heard of it. the ailment involves too many words flocking the the forefront for my brain at the same time. it's like an imaginary blood clot, only with words, not blood. that's when the emotional fits begin. ohdear. last night i drank a good red wine. it was pleasing.

when i am old, i hope to not be a bald man with a giant gut. i think masturbation has saved my life a few times. this time is coming to a violent close. people can be so christian they are evil.

home.

sky.


shoe.












car.

face.

ballpoint pen and coffee on napkin.

there's a mosquito on the window. stretching it's hind legs. curling them back. arching them above its head. reminiscent of a skinny ballerina. it's beautiful, it really is, but i am wary. i don't want it to stick me. so i keep a watchful eye on its location. when it starts to fly away i jump and yelp, make a fool of myself. but it just flies towards the window for about five minutes. paying me no mind. i think it might be trying to mate with itself. it's about that time, isn't it. just stay away from me.

drove to new orleans in a giant, green pick-up truck. the cotton exchange hotel. narrow city streets. trolleys. we devise a plan to jump two floors down into the outdoor pool room. realizing we will be drunk later, and in need of a dip. this never transpires. it's a dirtier city. everyone litters. just throwing trash on the ground. beers and/or liquors in hand, they sip and walk down the claustrophobic lanes and avenues, without thinking twice. a beautiful ancient city. at least old. a beat up jalopy. some restaurant, and i decide to try some alligator. breaking my vegetarian streak, initiated through poverty. it tastes like chicken. a strange group surrounds me. a bottle of displeasing red wine. i drink it all anyway. and become drowsy. sitting alone at the bar smoking cigarettes. in a brown shirt. vodka tonics. exit. art galleries litter the block, along with seedy bars. what a combination. drunk fat middle aged gay men in soft pink button up shirts. they try and force me to drink a radiation green coloured beverage dubbed "the hand grenade." it has "this will make you puke" written all over it. i politely refuse.. i forcefully say no fucking thank you. bourbon street. absolute debauchery. and i do "the robot" by myself amidst it all, in the middle of the crowded street. cigarette in hand. blues man "big al." they call him "jabba the hut." for a reason, mind you. i use the WC at the oldest bar in the country. converse with funny drunk ladies. vodka tonic, no lime: $5! old white man plays the keys, covering jimmy buffet songs. and for the first time in my life i slightly enjoy "margaritaville." some pirate/blacksmith started this bar in the 1600s. got caught with a rich man's lady, so they threw them in the marshes to drown in an embrace. so the story goes. condoms on the curb. i trample the many bead necklaces strewn about the streets. and have assured the group that if anyone even tries to put a bead necklace on me, i'll break their knees. i find them to be trite and tacky. more robot in the streets. we cross "the violet line," and some middle-aged man with a goatee in a cowboy hat storms out of the gay bar screaming, you people are sick. i laugh and psychoanalyze. breasts, and the bearing witness to the bare male ass popping out of a mini skirt entering some transvestite club. some random bar among millions. a worn looking hispanic man in a camouflaged tank top plays the electric fiddle. innocent bystanders are forced to hop on stage and play the washboard. i hide in the corner like always. and can't tell if i'm watching the hilarity or the horror. he plays the accordion now, backed solely by a drum machine. more vodka. back to the streets. i attempt to take everything in, but there's just so much happening it's overwhelming my senses. people dance, and it amuses me. heading to one-eyed jack's. then to some other bar, i'm not really paying attention anymore. stop touching me, i'm not feeling affectionate. and you ma'am are drunk! i'm tired now. body rejecting itself. to an irish pub. where the irish band covers ramones songs, incredibly surreal. i sit at my table alone while they dance. i smoke heavily, and drink their beers. stumbling home, past the police, the drunks, the buskers, the kids sitting in doorways, the hobos, the bachelorette brigades, and that extremely fat, half-naked man sleeping on the sidewalk, i find myself pleased to be where i am. and the world seems full of promise. lying in bed, i finally realize i'm drunk, when i have to close one eye to read a piece of paper. curl up in the bed spread. she attempts to steal it back from me. i'm told i informed her it wasn't going to happen. in the morning we drank slim fasts. the end.

we slept on a mattress on the floor. there was no box spring, and it was bad for our backs. neither complained. the initial attraction revolved around the fact that he only had one arm. but somehow still managed to make such wonderful music, with a drum machine, and some ordinary kitchen appliances. young people holding hands makes me feel nostalgic. i was on the left. and on sunday afternoons we would sit in the giant birch tree outside the apartment complex and smoke cigarettes, making dinner plans. winter involved down comforters and cold hardwood floors.

sometimes snow is so beautiful you find yourself desiring to just lie down in it.
curling up and sleeping until your body shuts off. and you die.

there were maggots in the sink today. margot is a good name, i think about it often. but for the past week i've gone by martha. for about a month it was yvette. there's something to be said about working eighty hours in one week. standing in a cement box serving fried goods. sometimes i feel i'm doing the world a great disservice. and the military men come in by the dozens in the morning. and they don't tip. and they ask for their military discount. ten percent off. sons of bitches, these guys. ever once and again, usually on the night of a full moon, i'm accused of being racist, when i say "you guys" instead of "y'all." i'm from ohio. so they tell me i am racist and leave with a confident "fuck you!" fucking fuming, i am. hot boxing cigarettes. five minutes later they come back in and ask for orange juice. i tell them they've offended me, pissed me off, and i don't want to get them anything.

the large group of boys come in screaming steak and eggs i want steak and eggs. i take their order, how do you want your eggs.
how do you want your eggs, baby?
i don't want any eggs. i'm not hungry.
well if you ain't hungry, then i ain't hungry.
how do you want your eggs.
i want my eggs however you want yours. let me feed you eggs.
i'm not hungry.

another man walks in and the trouble beings. i watch it unfold quickly. lately, i've been very soft spoken, and i frighten myself when i begin the scream expletives at the top of my lungs directed at the giant fight about the break out. they've puffed up their chests. they're looking down their noses. the cop comes in. disturbing the peace, sir. so they all start to pile out the door. the cops stands there. furious i eye him and inform him these customers haven't paid for their fucking food. is he just going to fucking stand there, or arrest them for not paying? he straightens up. goes to get them. they pay for their fucking food.

i work with this guy who has a withered hand. who goes out of his way to make jokes about it. so i ask, what happened to your hand. oh my mom did crystal meth while she was pregnant. i'm missing the longest bone in my arm. actually, she just over-dosed yesterday, so i have to leave at two, she has surgery.
then there's this lady named gwen. a very sweet lady. on thursday they took her kids away. because her boyfriend spanked the littlest one, who proceeded to mention it in school. so they just call up child services, and take her kids away. no ma'am, you can't see your kids. and if you do get them back, and lay so much as a finger on them, you'll never seem them again. you're going to have to take parenting classes before you regain custody as well.
jessica has had a brain tumor since she was nine. her parents are crackheads, so they don't really care to invest the money into the situation. she works innumerable hours at two jobs to afford her own medication. she's sixteen. she's done everything for herself. and no one seems to want to do anything for her. she wants to join the military. the other days she told me she is pregnant. she comes to work to tell me her house was broken into, and all their belongings stolen. including the money she had saved up to send to the doctors. and i think, oh god, i am grieving for you. and please don't get discouraged. she tells me, now i'm going to die, because people want to steal my money.

and what am i to do. this compassion is overwhelming. had i money in my pocket i would say take it.



occasionally, at some point late at night, she will play a handful of songs, one of which being "american soldier." i try in vain to explain to her why i hate it. because i don't like country, i don't like people writing songs about america, and i especially don't like songs where someone talks about how great they are. then we play johnny cash, which is glorious. the line, "i shot a man in reno, just to watch him die" may be one of the best lines in a song, ever. i need a hair cut. why are eggs so delicious to me? i don't understand. is it because my dad used to make eggs for breakfast every wednesday before school. scrambled, poached, sunny side up, over medium, over easy/light, over hard/well, basted, hard boiled, soft boiled. holy-shit. there are a lot of ways to cook eggs. and now, i'm going to go to work and eat some. someone told me once that they had seem an old woman drinking red wine out of a huge glass, while eating a soft boiled egg, and thought of me. i do hope i am that lady some day.

and nothing
ever
satisfies

my father's daughter. and the cigarettes. and the blonde hair almond eyes jaw line. today is jazz but later. lewis the pirate. tom the body builder. some girls from harvard. lauren. i had this dream the other night in which i found myself causally performing coitus with some girl, who i apparently knew in the dream. but before it all went down i asked her if she had any diseases. she said no. okay. the act itself was mildly painful and uncomfortable. needless to say i didn't really enjoy it, but went along with the whole ordeal anyway. when everything was said and done, i got up, and proceeded to play the harp. there were giant piles of meat. the dogs came from miles.

today i look exactly like river phoenix in :stand by me.: the moments i have to relax are unenjoyable. i feel restless and upset. no one calls or writes. i have to keep myself moving forward. occupied. remember the importance of both. disdain wells up inside of me. then the fear and the sadness. and i hate everyone. and i drink. and i smoke too many cigarettes. i miss my bike. it was yellow.