quiver
Hello, young American.
We wake up together. My white mattress is stained with blood. Some is the the result of my self-toe surgery (the trick is knowing the exact moment o rip the blade out. It’s a little like playing jazz trombone ). The rest seems to have escaped from her middle…
We watch people masturbate on Chat roulette. She taunts them with her tits (they all say: nice) and I stand around in the background brushing my teeth, doing jumping jacks, riding the exercise bike, drinking a salty dog. The young masturbaters just stare the old ones ask for “pussy plz” (have we reached such a low in society that we cannot spell out please when asking a woman we don’t know to show us her vagina?). We laugh at them.If i had a projector i would beam their actions against the church wall. but I don’t.
A transgendered neo-hippy m2w told me that eventually the poor will come to power. i sure hope not.
I tell the boss, I don’t think making me come to work on Fridays benefits anyone. She agrees. Now every weekend is a long weekend. To celebrate this my nurse is accompanying me to Six Flags.
Mostly we have sex (with varying degrees of effort, but always success), throw the football, and try to overpower one another. It feels pretty natural. WWMD (what would monkeys do). I want to meet the ex-husband she left.
She asks me why i read so many newspapers and watch reruns of top model. “I like Yoanna…You don’t like Yoanna?”
“No, she looks like an alien!” (makes strange pig alien face)
“Her face is top notch”
“How could you like her and like me? We look totally different!”
“So I look like Taye Diggs????”(then we take a tubby. eat sherbet. drive with the top off. betray patient-nurse confidentiality. pretend we are less bad than everyone else. )
How do you do?
dayum gina
I don’t go to the movies, but I will buy a tent and sleep in front of the rave for weeks for this one. OOOHHH MAHH GUUDDNISSS!!! I hope tisha campbell makes a cameo.
when 2 kids get together to drink champagne and look at guesshermuff.blogspot.com….
monday afternoon. i’m in a meeting discussing the shitstorm that is conde nast. my phone buzzes.
output: you don’t have any STD’s right? Just checking.
input: blood tests say NO (reply)
(buzz) output: 3 years ago? or current?
input: A few months.??? (reply)
*****Someone asks what we should do about gourmet renewals*****
(buzz) output: 
input: Does it hurt when you pee? (reply)
(buzz) output: Ahahaha no! Just making sure.
(buzz) output: I m sore though. That’s what a tight vagina will do to ya.
input: I’m sore too. (reply)
*****meeting adjourned*****
simplicity resonates
it’s the one year anniversary of my second repatriation.
i saw a blue toyota 4runner today with my last name written on the back and a south carolina license plate. i think maybe it was a sign. but of what.
mostly stopped blogging. i’ve been compiling all my blogs, drunken scrawls, diatribes, manifestos in a big notebook. I’ve named it: Love in the Time of Syphilis.(it’s sort of the director’s cut of the blog. stories about when i got date raped, shamans, the ugliest tit in the world, more cockroaches, how to get a free STD test at work, more champagne, more blah blah).
Your move Harper Collins.
Charlotte told me a good story the other day:
It was the 70′s. She was in her Malibu SS. It was a starry night in some lonesome north alabama holler. It was the night of the black cloud.
Char was keeping the the pedal to the metal (as per usual) and jammin to some frampton (as per usual). at some point between hills and sweet licks she saw a black cloud in the road.
next thing she remembers is crawling out of her mangled car. the roof was caved in along with entire front end. another totaled big block chevy. so there she was with a destroyed car in the middle of nowhere…bleeding from the head. the strange thing was the car was in the middle of the road and there was no other car or obstruction of any type. “it was as if I hit a black cloud made of steel…and then it just disappeared” she told me. eventually a police man came and took her to the hospital. they stitched her up and sent her home. the next day the policeman showed up at her house. he told her he found out what she hit. solved the case! he took her to the spot where the wreck occurred. It was a bright day and as they pulled up Char saw a giant blood dried blood stain in the middle of the road. and there was also a blood trail from leading to the shoulder. away from the shoulder many men were standing in a ditch shaking their heads and looking down with terrible looks. char began to worry. what was in the cloud? what was that cloud? The police man lead her toward the ditch….and then she saw. It was the biggest, strongest, blackest, deadest long haired blue nose bull in all of alabama. like a 2,ooo pound obsidian rug with horns. eyes like soft eight balls.
His name was oswaldo and he escaped the day prior. while running away he got clipped by malibu. it was destiny! went over the roof. hit the pavement. eventually oswaldo was able to drag himself to the ditch to die quietly…
char could not articulate her feelings, but i understood.
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maybe cometcomet.wordpress.com
got that swag?
there were legs on my shoulders. real boobs in my face. my high school crush was beside me. we were at a strip club. the stripper and i were having a who can have the most deadeyes contest. it ended in a stalemate.
stripper with giant back tattoo: what do you do?
I: i’m a researcher. What do you do?
Sw/GBT: i’m a dancer
I: really? what kind? jazz, ballet, tap…?
Sw/GBT is not amused, pulls left leg off (my) right shoulder, slaps legs shut thunderously, rolls off to other side of stage. I tip nothing.
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this pic brought back some mem-o-rees
= making money, smoking cigarettes, slapping , eating Kenta (ky fried chicken)…
last call on summer fun.
this city is really going to hell.walking the avenues pharma salesmen will yell across traffic, “Clonopin…Good price…Oxycontin…just got it from the pharmacy”. You know you are in the midst of an economic depression when drug dealers are working that hard (and openly/loudly).
free markets in action.
i think i was asked to model last night. something about an abandoned church and dressing “nice”. i asked if i could be blind groom with a hyena for a seeing-eye dog in the photos. they said i should just smile and look pretty. that might be kind of difficult.
free thought in action.
by chance i was in an almost empty pizza parlor with a girl with legs like a palomino filly. a young couple was grinding and playing ms pac man at the same time (each holding the joystick). i thought that was beautiful. in my neck of the parlor we discussed lost loves (apparently she lost her true love at age 20. i laughed at that though i shouldn’t have), shoes, and our least favorite austro-germans (there are many). i liked talking with her an suggested we drink wine at my place on some weekday afternoon. maybe that will happen. we got in my car and she laughed. uncontrollably.
inaction.
jaywalking the crossroads of art and science
this morning i realized i would totally do chelsea lately. don’t know how i feel about that.
so they “terminated” one of my 3 team members. they said it was a long time coming. they said it was not downsizing. they would not admit if it was “rightsizing”. i’m not exactly sure who “they” are. maybe i’ll get a new teammate (an attractive one). maybe i’m next (doubtful). I, kid vid, am to small publishers as Tarintino’s jews are to nahzees.
keep on eff’n and jeff’n!
phil collins and peter gabriel / perception and reality
in the middle night mist of stimuli the mind creates it’s own version of perceptibility. two sides of the coin ——–+ |
first what the brain made: <———–+
it’s raining somewhere. i’m sitting with my head under a makeshift tent with my feet buried in wet sand. my phone lights up and buzzes. text from a blocked number says:
“you lose. meet me in Accra -KES.”
I curse and moan trying to figure out what i’ll have to sell to get to Ghana. maybe blood/plasma/sperm?
Now the “reality”:
it’s hot. in my apartment at 3:52 am. i’m sleeping (small earwigs are trying to attack my extremities). my bed smells like three different girl hair products. my phone lites up and buzzes. text from known number says :
“see you should’ve just stayed up the whole night. I just got home and you are probably waking up after a lame unfulfilling nap to get ready for work”.
I got up and brushed my teeth.
that B can’t give an HJ worth a S
So i crashed a wedding. it was beautiful. the bride cried at the alter and when they kissed it was very “nice”. I should have watched my tongue as there were many small children around, but i was sneaking shots of Very Old Barton and being myself. we all were sweating. it is august. this is alabama.
I hope those kids last.
people there seemed to know me, but i didn’t know them. they had stories about me. i was oblivious. some took pictures of me for no reason (i think i am the most facebooked person not on facebook). one questioned how i have at times targeted girls with low self esteem. i said at first it was a joke (something to do [do in the biblical sense]), but then it became a lifestyle. we don’t judge the gays for sticking it up other dudes butts, don’t judge me for giving it to a bitch on the downswing. i enjoy it and we are all adults.
a man had just been dumped by his girlfriend. he was at the wedding alone. she was there with a dude. a douche people said. the dumped man drank a lot. he asked a young asian girl if she would like a shot she rebuked. she then said he looked “crestfallen”. i felt empathetic.
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i was trying to sit alone and drink. a boy said “do you know the bartenders name?”. i said”phil”
he said “no the one with the pussy”
I said “britney”
he stared at her all night saying “goddammit” over and over. i felt somewhat responsible.
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i work more with taiwanese, spaniards, and germans than i do with americans. it requires getting up at 3am. next week 50 hours. some call it career development. i should’ve gone to law school.
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