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Warehouse full of "antiques:" old-fashioned telephone booth complete with ventilating fan; deteriorated crown-moldings that should really be sent to the dump; books from the fifties that would make a militant feminist shit her pants, as she probably would not wear a skirt; a tiffany lamp featuring a stained-glass dragonfly with red glass beads for eyes (red glass is supposedly the most valuable). Stubborn shafts of sunlight illuminate hordes of ancient dust, flying from antiquated furniture to weathered tchotchkes, maybe even venturing outside this tomb of stuff people couldn't take with them. Remnants of lost realities--some tired, others still hopeful.
ode to coffee...other than liquor what other beverage has so many temples and devoted followers? Tea is an afterthought, it doesn't pack the same punch people drink coffee to jumpstart their day and drink liquor to forget or maybe it's to calm down after they drank so much coffee. Irish like to mix the two, dichotomy morphing into a holy holism in France one can generally get both at any cafe. But this is ode to coffee so let us speak of grinding beans and savoury dregs that no true coffee lover really minds, aroma welcomed with joy, relief.
I am not in the mood for this right now--There are certainly things that I would rather be doing, hence the utter lack of contractions. I do not like it when people write cop out entries such as the entry I am now writing. I suppose that this makes me a hypocrite. I ungrudgingly grant this admission to my readers and myself. I also do not hold it against anyone for reading this directionless exercise of writing for writing's sake, as that simply amounts to reading for reading's sake. I will now leave you with today's last ten words.
Why do people seem to think that dying in one way is more wonderful and glorious than others? Elvis died on the crapper and he is still remembered with high esteem! Death is death. As far as the living are concerned, it is the end. Even if one believes in life after death, in whatever form you will, it is the end of the individual's active presence in this realm. So then, why are some deaths more glorified than others, most especially those in which people took death as a known risk? It really just doesn't make sense to me.
Four words: Double espresso, bad idea; for me anyway. I haven't really eaten anything, unless you count a can of Slim Fast, which I don't. My blood isn't boiling, it's condensing, thinning into an acrid substance that makes my veins limp. I grit my teeth. Somehow I—never mind. I've been chewing the same two pieces of gum for two hours. It's no longer fun to stretch it out between my front teeth and stick my tongue through it, then suck it back after putting it in the front of my teeth. I feel a bit confused and strangely strained.
Foam insulation for the windows (god what a draft), nails to hang stuff, a large trashcan to hold a bit more of the trash that has now overflowed onto the floor. Coffeemaker with reusable filter and more capacity (why did he say they already had one like that when they didn't?), also some clr, don't know how I could forget that, and a scrubbing brush cause it's going to take some elbow grease to clean that ancient tub, some kind of pest repellent—I saw some droppings in the pantry (gross). These are the things I need from the store.
We had smoked quite a bit of hash that day. Somehow we got very lost. I stood on a street corner and flipped randomly through my guidebook, not really able to focus. An older man came up to me and tried to give me directions when I hadn't even asked. Weird. His directions did not really help me. Not his fault, of course. I was just a lot out of it. I found the map I was looking for and thought I had figured out where we were, but after walking quite a bit further, realized that I was wrong.
Some music is really fucking annoying. Take jam bands for instance. Now, I don't mind it when a good band gets really into playing and improvise together to create really great music. Jam bands, however, seem to just like playing music and not particularly care that their music is some of the most pointless and redundant shit I've ever heard. I think the idea behind it is that you're so stoned when you play/listen to it that you forget you've been listening to the same song which is like a bland mobius strip of sound looping over and over again.
We don't even have cable here and we still get something like thirty different channels. What's even weirder is that a greater number of those channels are in a foreign language than those in English. Gee, I hope that made sense. I need to stop watching so much TV. It's such a waste of time. It also can be a very pacifying experience. Although at the same time I get so infuriated when I see some of the stupid shit that comes on. This happens with especially high frequency when I watch the news. Our president is such a fuckhead.
Have you ever heard a really great song that just made you feel so great, like you could listen to it over and over again? But then you read the lyrics, and they turn out to be something like, "You spin me right round baby right round like a record baby right round round round." Jesus Christ. I love that song, but I also really hate it. What a stupid stupid song. AND it's really fun to dance to. The worst one is this new one that would just crack me up if I saw it in a poetry book.
It was snowing really hard today and it felt so soft and powdery floating into my face that it didn't even feel like snow but more like lint. I'm not used to living somewhere that it snows. Not regularly anyway. It's kind of nice. Like the cold weather has more meaning than it does when it's simply really, really cold and gray. I'm looking forward to eventually seeing a really big blizzard. I'm talking feet, not inches. That's what I'd like to see. I don't know what it is about snow. One thing is it makes me feel extra cozy.
It's late. Things are starting to grate. I feel a bit bubble-headed right now. I kinda wanna get drunk or something. I could probably do that. It's certainly not out of the realm of possibility. Sometimes I feel so naked, like… like I'm sitting here completely naked and people are going to notice me any minute. It makes my cheeks burn. That makes things worse because I'm like, damn, I'm blushing, and then I wanna play it off all cool and say, "Gee, I'm really hot. Gosh, I hate it when I get hot and my cheeks get all flushed."
It would be really nice to have some cash. I'm waiting for my return from Dubya and the payoff has yet to be made. I keep planning what I want to do with it. One thing I think about doing is buying an air purifier, because we smoke in the house and I have a really sensitive sense of smell, and it would be nice if I didn't wake up and walk out my bedroom door and feel like I'm walking into a bar. Also I saw a great leather jacket the other day. They didn't have my size though.
There was this ad in the Reader today that said would I shave or buzz my hair for $500? I've been growing my hair out into a bob, but it's still not that long, and I could really use the money. If I had that much money I could easily afford a truly sexy wig, and I love wigs. I called them up and the guy who answered asked me some questions like how long was my hair. I told him, and he said that since my hair isn't all that long I would only get $200. What a rip.
Coconuts, bananas, star fruit, papaya! Guacamole. Cranberry apple tangerine. Asparagus squash, kiwi pear pea pod? Mango avocados grapefruit lemon lemon lime. Romaine strawberry cucumber spinach!!! Cauliflower tomtatillo red pepper. Pepper banana jabanero. Olive orange eggplant green bean. Potato tomato Vidalia onion. Broccoli asparagus ginger root peach cobbler. Banana lettuce peas. Peas peas peas. Pepper peas? Lime guava mango rhubarb. Beet avocado apples kiwi. Mushroom pineapple black berry nectarine. Lemon nectarine peach plum. Celery carrot coconut. Passion fruit? Pinto lima tangerine green bean grape portabella. Portabella!!! Sprouts alfalfa bean. Boysenberry nectarine boysenberry mango ginger pepper. Corn cob creamed cucumber papaya squash.
Wretched wretched wretched. Blaeablach. Stripping this filth off. I'm under siege by a force that I cannot negotiate with. I can only attack with supplements and time. Time will wear my enemy down. In the meanwhile… Yes, well, in the meanwhile I suppose I'll, I'll just have to bide my time. Their time. This time is worth little to me when I am so incapacitated. Sitting around waiting. Wretching and waiting. I worry that they might kill me. Can't afford to think like that though. If only I knew if things were getting worse or getting better. I don't know.
I wanted to talk to Marlene today. She did something that really disturbed me. I checked the mail and found this envelope addressed to me, from her. She only lives down the street. I opened the envelope and there was a Polaroid of her inside. In the picture she was lying down naked, covered only by toilet paper. It was draped around her body like a scroll of some sort, with writing I couldn‚t make out. She looked dead. I don‚t know her well enough for her to play a joke on me, which is why it was so disturbing.
We were about to reach the station when Penelope realized she forgot her travel-card. "Why don't you just get another one? You can use the one at home another time!" "Well I don't see why I should pay for another bloody card when I have a perfectly good one less than ten minutes away! I just really don't see the point in doing it. I'm just going to run back and get it. I won't be long." "But Penelope, ten minutes isn't really ten minutes if you have to go and come back! We'll be standing here for twenty minutes!"
Someone doesn't want me here. I wonder who that could be. Perhaps it's that cat. He's always crouching across the room, leering at me. Never gets on the couch when I'm sitting there. I think cats are mystical or something. Like Indian spirits. Sorry, I mean Native American. I'm part Cherokee, I found out recently. Someone told me I could be entitled to a share from the casinos if I'm a certain percentage. I'm not sure what percentage I am, but I sure could use the money. I'd use that money so I wouldn't have to work for the man.
One time when I was younger, I was riding in the car with my mom and dad and sister. My sister and mom were sleeping, but my dad was driving and I was sitting in the back left seat with my head leaning against the window. We saw a UFO. I swear. Way up in the sky, this large disc shaped object with lights all around the edges was simply hovering. Not even hovering. The thing was completely still. I was pretty amazed. I waited for it to move, but it didn't. I don't think my dad even remembers this.
People in Chicago are really into local beers. There are some decent ones around here, better than most other places in America, but I just don't know about the local's claim that the beer here is better than in Europe. There's one brew I like called Flying Dog something or other, but I only really like it because it's an imitation of the Belgian beer Hoegaarden. But I guess this is a better place to drink beer than someplace like, oh, I don't know, Alabama. I don't like to drink beer too much because it really makes you gain weight.
Where does the word "secret" come from? I can't really think of an origin. I always wanted to take Latin, so then maybe the English language would make more sense. I don't know if it really would, though, because once you know that something like "diem" is where the word "day" came from, then you'd have to wonder where the fuck "diem" came from. It doesn't really solve anything. At least "secret" is a real word. Unlike "sucret" which is some sort of cough drop. Maybe it's called that because it makes you "secrete," like cough up mucus or something.
The ceiling fans go round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round and round until you turn them off.
I wonder how many words people say a day on average. For example, if someone did a statistical study of a thousand American people, I wonder what the average would be. You could break age groups down into five groups, and then have each group represented by a hundred men and a hundred women of all different ethnicities etcetera. Then these people could have a microphone attached to them, and you could hire a bunch of undergrads to count the words the people say. They would probably get into semantic arguments about whether "uhm" is a word, and so on.
I feel like my head is being cut open by one of those surgical drills that make that high-pitched whine. WREEEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAEEEEEEEEEE. I'm listening to a sound. The sound is supposed to be music, but as far as I'm concerned it is one of the most tortuous sounds I've ever known. SHUT UP YOU FUCKING BASTARD OR I'LL SHOVE THAT FIDDLE BOW SO HIGH UP YOUR ASS THAT YOUR RIBS WILL START TO MAKE MUSIC. It wouldn't be so fucking bad if he weren't playing the same fucking four bars OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER and OVER again. FUCK!!!!!!!!
Shakespeare I ain't. Just felt like saying that. I guess a lot of people don't even believe that he wrote all those plays and sonnets. You would think that by now ‘ain't' would be in the dictionary. I just noticed after I typed it that it had a red squiggly line under it, which mean that either it's not a real word or it's spelled incorrectly, which after I right-clicked on it, I saw that the suggestions were things like "is not" etc. This is so boring, I know. I feel like this entry sounds like someone's cheesy web log.
People are walking around everywhere with "No War" buttons. I wonder if these people are doing anything to stop a potential war other than wearing those fucking buttons. That's why I don't wear one. I am not doing anything to stop this Iraq situation, potential situation, whatever you will, and therefore I don't feel that it would be right for me to wear such a button. Freedom of speech, sure, but what good is talk without any sort of action. Emily Dickinson said that words only start to live after they are spoken, written, pronounced in one way or another.
She's listening to some funky music. Yes she is. It makes her want to dance and twist and twirl. When she was a little girl, she liked wearing dresses that bloomed out like a pansy. She twirled around in circles until it seemed as though the world, not she, was the one doing the twirling. Perhaps if she twirled with it, it would all start to come into focus. This music helps her fill out her body, or maybe just bring it into better harmony with herself. Sounds to smooth the soul, sex the brain, drown out all the noise.
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