we had a very short in-personal conversation on the phone. he said hello, i said hello,he told me what i needed to do for tomorrow, gave me his excuse, and hung up before i could say byebye.
the next mourning i waited at the bus stop at eight. it was cloudy and cool, the soft breezes blew my lace pseudo wedding dress around my legs.
she was still asleep, wrapped up softly in the sheets, her long hair everywhere and her face burried in the pillow. i thought about how i am not a morning person.
i watched the cool breeze blow the burger king wrappers past my feet. the bus came. i watched the town roll by and soon i was in the city.
i walked from the station to the bank. the building was a skyscraper and in side they had a pleasant little fountain. starbucks and suits were everywhere, and here i was in my lacy dress with a thermas full of tea. i took the elevator to his floor, just like he had curtly told me on the phone. in the elevator two bitchy women were looking at me and saying how they'd hire anyone. i got to his floor "accounting" and luckily he was waiting in the reception room so i didnt have to deal with the receptionist.
"lets go to the parking garage."
he took me to the bottom level, the basement of the building. he started to talk to me.
i didnt understand what he was saying.
two teenagers were sitting in their car at the other end of the empty parking lot.
he was much older than i was. in his thirties.
he told me to go down town, which confused me because i thought i was downtown but apparently i was only in the buisness district. there he would meet me for lunch at a fastfood chinese joint. he said more, but i didnt understand.
i was trying to not let the experience change me, i tried to stay the same.
i sat in the food court infront of "KUNG POW" for an hour before he came.
he bought me awful food that smelled like month old sticky candy. i didnt eat it.

ugh fuck it.

the EYES (les yeux)

down with homework!

"An intriguing entomological experiment shows that a male butterfly will ignore a living female butterfly of his own species in favor of a painted cardboard one, if the cardboard one is big. If the cardboard one is bigger than he is, bigger than any female butterfly could ever hope to be. He jumps the piece of cardboard. Over and over again, he jumps the peice of cardboard. Nearby, the real, living female butterfly opens and closes her wings in vain. -from "The Writing Life" by Annie Dillard

i think i am going through my mediocre "photography" phase where i take dumb pictures of my feet. kinda like some girls with horses.

americas best-selling poet

"There is a time to stop reading,
there is a time to stop trying to write,
there is a time to kick the whole bloated
sensation of art out on its whore-ass."
-Charles Bukowski

and then they pulled my skirt up

photo dump!

tell the people

"how old do you think i am?"
"19"
"i'm sixteen"
and he left.

she rode her bike to school in the morning once it was spring again, one pedal after the other. she was always late anyway. on the days she wore skirts she would have to take along a hair tie to pull the skirt up, so it wouldnt get caught in the bike chain. once she forgot and she had to walk around with black oil stains all day. if she wasnt careful her backpack would rub against the back tire and threaten to take her down.
the dismounts were never easy or graceful. her route went by the new hospital that was under construction, and the scafolding always reminded her of him, by the way he talked to her like a piece of work. that and getting hit on by hobos who were too insane to get a job.
remember to push the pedals if you want to keep going.
the spring breeze and the rushing past of the bike felt like fingers in her hair. after school she would try to ride her bike away from everything, but her water bottle would run out somewhere after broadway.
She only felt like herself when she was alone.



he drove his car in the morning eventhough it was spring again, one gear shift after the other. he was always late anyway. on the days his brother took it out the night before, he would have to take along gas money because it would always be almost empty. once he forgot and he had to push his car half a mile to a gas station. if he wasnt careful he would stall in intersections and hills. the parking was never lucky or convenient. his route went by the new hospital that was under construction, and the scafolding always reminded him of her, by the way she was too afraid to look him in the eye. that and how he needed a job.
with the window rolled down and his hand stuck out, the rushing air felt like he was running his fingers through hair.
after school he would leave right away, and try to drive as far as he could, but he would always chicken out somewhere after broadway.
He only felt like himself when he was alone.

BESTEST FRIENDZZZZZZZZZZ

dear [blank]
please, grow up.

i feel we have a mutually parisidic relationship.
p.s.
today i found out i was a total klutz, especially when i was trying to be suave.

i dont understand why people were so shocked by columbine. if anything, i almost sympathise. not that im going to go phsyco and shoot up my school, but it wasnt irrational behavoir.

oh golly miss molly

inspired (as always) by alicia

im not the man you think i am (comrad volfgang)

the beginning of a new age