I still have my heart
somewhere...
I'll find it one of these days
when I least need it
under a box
or all rolled up, like a poster, in a corner somewhere
maybe gardening in the attic
maybe inside an empty plastic bag
but more than probably
it will be replacing the door mat
waiting for the wrong person to return
he doesn't know
my poor and stupid heart
who never knew.
That is why I understand when you ask me to write
and that is how I know why you can't love
though sometimes I wish you could
and I ask you to do things I can't
like love
like the washer, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling.
6/30/07
6/21/07
Cause I wanna take you downtown...
It must have been 2:00am this morning when I found myself surfing, smoking, brewing and chasing my tail like I usually do. This fucking insomnia has got to go.
Then again, what fun.
Hunger strike, I mean, stroke.
I think hunger strikes are as stupid as that Carpenter girl... errr, nevermind.
So, like Amundsen I set sail to my favorite late night eatery.
The Hurricane, a retroish very non-art-deco, rather warehousy, shady coffee shop a block from the Needdle. Yes, it has a bar, but this one breaks your dreams before you even walk in.
But that's not the "It" about this place. I go there because it's open, the bacon is always fried to perfection (not charred yet crunchy enough to provide the neccesary traction for the tomato not to slide). Three or four girls with multicolored hair, a army of emo's and the always sparkling pair of curvy blondes (I believe that for the purpose of general understanding of the ALWAYS BELOVED QUORUM I will have to classify their booties as BBW) of course, in their early 40's.
No, I was so NOT checking them out, really. I was incredibly entertained with the wiffity.
The what?? (and people ask if we have TV's in Mexico)
Wiffity! a wi-fi networked big ASS LCD screen that displays txt's> This, of course, is like giving me a full breakfast and a megaphone, at 2:00am.
The service sucked royal ass, but who is in a hurry at 2:00am? I mean, bush kept reading "Curious George" after being informed of the COWARD attacks in 9/11 (we're gonna get you one of these days fuckers, just wait till the shield is up and we're going to be cooking glass like a trailer park in Pierce County).
But by then I might find myself locked up in Get Mo' not becuase of my blurbs, but because I'm tan. So much for voting. Anyway. It's the Hurricane and they were playing Johnny Cash, Simple Minds, Erasure, Depeche and unfortunately Howard Jones.
Tah Tah.
Oh, yes, I almost forgot....
Being single allows you to stay up all night, eat basted eggs and an absolutely fucking magnific waffle topped with bluberries and whip cream at 2am WITHOUT having to convince anyone that the bacon is always crunchier, though Hester Prynne might disagree.
(when in fact IT IS) and fuck the tomato, it just fell on the floor.
Then again, what fun.
Hunger strike, I mean, stroke.
I think hunger strikes are as stupid as that Carpenter girl... errr, nevermind.
So, like Amundsen I set sail to my favorite late night eatery.
The Hurricane, a retroish very non-art-deco, rather warehousy, shady coffee shop a block from the Needdle. Yes, it has a bar, but this one breaks your dreams before you even walk in.
But that's not the "It" about this place. I go there because it's open, the bacon is always fried to perfection (not charred yet crunchy enough to provide the neccesary traction for the tomato not to slide). Three or four girls with multicolored hair, a army of emo's and the always sparkling pair of curvy blondes (I believe that for the purpose of general understanding of the ALWAYS BELOVED QUORUM I will have to classify their booties as BBW) of course, in their early 40's.
No, I was so NOT checking them out, really. I was incredibly entertained with the wiffity.
The what?? (and people ask if we have TV's in Mexico)
Wiffity! a wi-fi networked big ASS LCD screen that displays txt's> This, of course, is like giving me a full breakfast and a megaphone, at 2:00am.
The service sucked royal ass, but who is in a hurry at 2:00am? I mean, bush kept reading "Curious George" after being informed of the COWARD attacks in 9/11 (we're gonna get you one of these days fuckers, just wait till the shield is up and we're going to be cooking glass like a trailer park in Pierce County).
But by then I might find myself locked up in Get Mo' not becuase of my blurbs, but because I'm tan. So much for voting. Anyway. It's the Hurricane and they were playing Johnny Cash, Simple Minds, Erasure, Depeche and unfortunately Howard Jones.
Tah Tah.
Oh, yes, I almost forgot....
Being single allows you to stay up all night, eat basted eggs and an absolutely fucking magnific waffle topped with bluberries and whip cream at 2am WITHOUT having to convince anyone that the bacon is always crunchier, though Hester Prynne might disagree.
(when in fact IT IS) and fuck the tomato, it just fell on the floor.
6/5/07
Life Brew
Tripping on my own shadow
sleeping as little as possible
feeding on stale crackers
and using pillows as masks
I go
living my days in pairs
while the shower is a river of handkerchiefs
I wake up to the evening news
the moon is my sun
and the whistling coffee pot my songbird
Her face is everywhere
my heart becomes an empty plastic bag
a merky fishtank
a cat ran over
by the garbage truck
I watch her slipping away
like a sad kid in the park
seeing his balloon fly into the air
sleeping as little as possible
feeding on stale crackers
and using pillows as masks
I go
living my days in pairs
while the shower is a river of handkerchiefs
I wake up to the evening news
the moon is my sun
and the whistling coffee pot my songbird
Her face is everywhere
my heart becomes an empty plastic bag
a merky fishtank
a cat ran over
by the garbage truck
I watch her slipping away
like a sad kid in the park
seeing his balloon fly into the air
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