august 29, 2001

/the merits of getting your ex pregnant
drowningman - mail order kidney

someone please explain to me why i have certain desires to do such all-american things as going to a baseball game. sometimes i have spontaneous urges to be satisfied with predictablity i guess. just as i explained my views to her about how it seems we are becoming desensitized to violence on tv to the point where i watch a criminal plead insanity on the screen for killing his wife and four children in a brief explosion of bottled up anger and disgust and self-pity that screams of endless punishment, mental chamber of illusion. enjoyable punishment after a while, parallel to this desensitization of blood on the screen; it hurts at first, but the more you get used to it, you pick up the remote control, notice that the batteries are going dead soon, then wonder what else is on.

so oh yeah the basbeall game. i finally fulfilled one of my lifelong goals, which is raising my index finger and yelling "one hot dog please" at the guy with the weird scratchy voice. the hot dog was gross. but "now i can die happy" or whatever the fuck.

derek visited, that funny bastard, from up north, unfortunately one night we think somebody somehow broke into our apartment while we were both in here, the next day he woke me up with whispers - his wallet was gone and later we discover her face pads and foundation and such were also missing. besides that, we paid 5 bucks to see a local minor league baseball game. baseball players have fucking nice buttcheeks oh damn. and on the way there, traffic slowed, and a seemingly endless string of snake-like formations emerged from underneath the overpass, made their way east, away from the sunset. bats. their motions are random and chaotic to the naked eye, unlike the swift and graceful movements of our feathered friends. perhaps that is why most humans have pet birds and not pet bats in their household. "rats with wings." shut up. they only come out at night because of you. (haha this is me "pissed off")

travelling way south makes me wonder how i'm going to pay for all my art supplies, but it was amazing and well the fuck worth it. robbie had an unexpected baby with his pseudo girlfriend (who needs classification anyway?), they love each other and had a court wedding. christian matthew, what a beautiful piece of human art he is, so small and soft and magnetically precious, resting silently in robbie's shoulders. i forgot to blink. i've never seen him so proud before.

both 20 years of age, cute apartment with an upstairs baby room that makes me whimper. the night before, i gave into peer pressure (you had to be there), sucked in and blew away the gross poisonous fumes for the first time in my life, couldnt stop giggling when i gave the gas station lady too much change for my minty gum, didnt really enjoy myself like they appear to do so in movies, went to the bowling alley and didnt even bowl. the alleys were glowing in the dark too. i'm really bad at skeeball. though i have a varsity letter in bowling from my freshman year of high school. take a number to fuck me.

haha, besides that it was long conversations until 5 am (all the way the night before i left), going to walmart 80 fucking times a day (but god is it fun), eating fast food 2 times a day (164 the computerized scale read to me), wishing she was a boy, wondering why her genitalia should matter...the usual. lots of people changed. the twins are drunk assholes from what i hear (shh dont tell). supposedly the real asshole has changed a lot but i dont fucking buy it. no i'm not going to a movie with you until you give her a real fucking apology. i wanna see tears, not those sparkly ones in the soap operas, but the honest, heartfelt ones that sting the back of your head like a galaxy of worker bees.

we stayed up all night exchanging current information regarding our parents and latest sexy fantasies. 4 or 5 times a day?? damn you sick freak!!!!! just kidding. but. ouch. talk about fantasies, ex football player and massage expert, what the fuck else do i really need in life? oh yeah, honest commitment and someone to pamper me and woo me into his arms and touch me gently and all that other girly shit that i, as a man, love more than strawberry milkshakes. and raver barbie.

i tried sparking a little conversation with this cute blond boy in the supermarket when i was buying my body wash fouf (haha soul twin), i said something about weave. he was buying food and a pink flower (i dreamt the flower was for me). he even talked to me a little bit more 'cause i accidentally went right behind him in the check out line. oops! how did i end up here? ah well, i guess i'll just stay here. i told him the weave mullet wasnt working out for my hair. half ass followed him over to the front and even played one of those goddamn "win a prize" games (the one with the claw and you press the button to lower it onto your desired prize) that i never play anymore just so i could be near him and hope something would happen.

well nothing happened with the boy (at least i said something to him), but i actually won a little teddy bear! it's very cute and soft and has a pink ribbon tied into a bow around its neck. i hope robbie's new baby likes it.

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august 13, 2001

/the show-me state
bal sagoth - callisto rising

i laughed so hard with her, so hard in those 4 to 5 days that i think my cheeks still hurt. my dad donated this free ticket for air travel, i magically spread my wings and landed in st louis, last time i was there, i was only able to see her for about 23 hours. or was it 25? i saw her looking very cute and stylish, it feels nice to honestly miss someone so hard it hurts.

she lives with two older generations, all female, in a single house, in a conservative area outside of the city. we saw that new jackie chan movie and shot a roll of instant photos in the booth, we look super cute, then made our way into the line for the motion picture. we were very loud and obnoxious. i could not fucking stop laughing, i swear. we both crave a certain form of attention, i believe, hidden but revealed in a purposely overdramatized candy coated layer.

the creamy filling inside is her heart, bleeding life and passion and freedom, a willingness to understand, to absorb, to collect, and to positively reinforce.

her father is quite a character, he is a somewhat well-known bar-owner and beatnik poet in a different area of town. i drew a picture of him, which i exchanged for a book of his poetry. the intoxicating plants were growing right there in his kitchen, not even hidden by the closet. the puppy's name is franklin, they had to check him for ticks very often. we kidnapped him for a night, which her mother didnt agree with too much (i waited upstairs and washed my face then we got a burger and fries). so the next day we brought him back to her dad's bar. he gave us free homemade cherry 7-UP, with cherries, which ruled. i really had to piss. kept drinking anyway. we made our jukebox selections, i had forgotten just how fucking high-pitched kriss kross used to chant those rhymes. something about the sight of the older folk sitting at the bar, already piss drunk, at about 2 pm, sun shining outside, humidity seeping through the door, ajar, and sneaking up on us like a six pack of ninjas.

the drug deals in the waffle house were so obviously crafted, not very well disguised. we left early after she saw the shady guy hold out a condom. as we were walking to the car, her hand clenched onto my forearm, the two teenage chefs were engaging in even more illegal activity, substance enclosed in a small baggie. once they saw us, they went back inside, probably to cook more pancakes and eggs, sunny side up, just the way you like it.

at least we redeemed our cleanliness by viewing several andy warhol's and rauschenberg's and lichenstein's in the art museum. checkin out the guy with the headphones, nice sideburns. i wanted her to accidentally throw the chocolate wrapper at the guy she was checkin out, sitting by the tree and writing letters or something. overlooking the really pretty giant pond that she used to explore with her grandpa on a paddleboat for two. i ate my leftover calzone and waved goodbye to the sunset.

the surgery went well, she told us her hair was already starting to grow back. such beautiful eyes. i sat there with jenny jones on mute on the silver screen above and to the left. me: smiling and watching as the three generations, each singularly represented, exchanged light conversation and soft locking of the eyes. i almost envy the closeness, the honesty, the loyalty, and love: the ultimate exchange of inner structure.

> 3 reactions

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