12.17.2011 Bukowski was a mail man and Eliot a banker and W. C. Williams a pediatrician and Adolpho is a maintenance man and I find myself envying him. With vigor and zest and his leaf blower He pretends to shoot tennis balls at so called "pussy cats"
You can work at Pita Pit but hell if I'm going to Jamba Juice. A man and woman have to have pride, I know But I don't care. You're King Leonidas as far as I'm concerned and you pick a wilted flower to wear in your pocket and ask for the smiles of civilians and laugh with half your heart.
It'd be a little romantic to be a truck driver or a janitor after hours somewhere and that cabin I'd build, you could go there. We wouldn't fight all that much.
posted by Tazarat @ 4:19 PM
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There were a lot of weddings on November 11th this year.
I feel as though everything is on battery life. Like eventually this page'll run out, the pen's ink, my mind with thoughts. The sweat of desperation. That's what they call "writer's block", right? John bought me a little white bag for breakfast. It was particularly full of taste and texture and then meaning. He bought himself a malt beer in a bright orange can And for one fucking second I thought he wouldn't drink it. I related my dad to "By the way" Bill, how he could come back for a while after living in a shopping cart and be okay.
My memory is leaving me more and more. I forget things I've just said. The feeling of recognition is less great, remembrance more few. I blamed it this morning on wine. I don't think it's true.
posted by Tazarat @ 4:04 PM
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2.18.2010 I saw a thin man sucking a limp cigarette with a work apron tied around his bent waste and a lump of greasy dark hair tumbling down into a pair of puffy inset eyes. He's what we call a 'working man', a 'starving artist', a 'sucker'. Like the lips he puckered to that vice between his fingers, he'll give in again. He'll continue getting gaunt and hollow out with a spoonful of that sappy heroine. There is something in the greyness of his eyes that made me stare, like dead men rolling in their graves. Now he's down the street in a taxicab and right to work with a stained apron on coughing up moths from the back of his throat.
posted by Tazarat @ 8:09 PM
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2.09.2010 Greaso, you're lingering on the tips of my index and thumb fingers where I had plucked your mane from a box of thimbles and tumbling and opening to find you there, didn't you follow me home then? I paid a handsome sum to feel the soft hair and watch the glassy eyes you keep untamed because the caged beast claws from the inside-out.
posted by Tazarat @ 6:28 PM
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2.01.2010 It looks like you burnt your hand Those fingers are bent in a broken way sharply into the palm, the thumb out stretching strangely limp. I get maggots in my mind eating at the bandages, spitting up acidic saliva that burns each thread like embers on the skin and I find myself recoiling like a handgun, a spring loaded ignition in a black chrome case. (I hate thinking about it.) Those fingers nub- nod- naked bone carved into finger tips on a stretching hand! Lye scrapes the thinly-skinned place I was told to bare toward a hot door during a fire drill. Lye curdles there and adrenaline cuts my line of sight into a sunsetting horizon where I lay hand-over-hand coddling the lump of scar under my outer palm. The bandaged hand is being held in a bandaged hand and the eyes let the irises show shame
posted by Tazarat @ 5:44 PM
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1.27.2010 "Explainations are in order for why these floor boards are always freezing. Guess it will all make sense once we get older and reach the age of reason and, until then, I'll have no reason to sleep in. Not even on weekends; Unless we're together because my willpower will probably weaken." The main drag licks at Hedon. He drags back and licks the filter to get the main tar taste. Where Luis sits in a dirty shirt, with a cup ring over his chest he knows the answers to all your queries. He is in the hottest seat (know one no is it is him) The main drag licks at the window where Luis sits in a dirty seat with a lick of know on his shirt and the glass is the great filter and Hedon is being watched there on the other side.
posted by Tazarat @ 11:53 AM
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1.18.2010 I'm lost foraging for something lost nothing that wasn't there I know I'm just spinning and he smiled, concerned but what else. I'm the one.
I'm so tired my eyes are hurting. What does that mean? Why can I still smell his skin? and can see his lips? the smile he waded in, concerned. I'm in love with him, I know now. No longer do I doubt He is the one. like a sour candy on your tongue like driving too quickly around a corner like a flying bird overhead (dark against the sky but fleeting) He draws on me now pulls difficult things out now and I want him like a woman's cravings like a child's retracted toy like hunger and then laziness The today there was a sun but only was it warm when I stepped out of that light.