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my capillaries are arbitrary. righteous to understand my own, in order to signify the zone. I can’t understand your dial tone, call me when your home alone. it’s only hair, the barber groaned. it’s only life, the doctor toamed. it’s only me, my alter ego moaned. it’s only timing the artist screamed, your ruining your beauty in the search of reasons and rhymes and seasons of time. its easier that way, easier to say, easier to bray, like a donkey in the hay. I’m a farm animal put out to pasture, I’m some milk spoiling faster, I’m your elbow, bending.
i countermand your contraband
Sunday is my revenge on Monday.
A noise I can’t distinguish, either the cat jumping ontop of the laundry room door or a serial rapist using blunt force to break into my serene independence and corrupt my beauty and youth. oh well. It’s raining, I feel exotic in my unheated apartment. Planning for tomorrow, work, obligated by paycheck to suffer the consequences of my own actions. Painful Reaction Necessary. Defining humiliation in the actions of one’s self: attending weight watchers meeting. A convention of assholes paying their weight in weight to listen to skinny optimist regurgitate.
Monday, you glorious beast, how you trap me in your giant paw of familiarity.
Work turned out to be 95% shitastical with a 5% chance of crapola. Majority of my coworkers hate me secretly, the rest of them aren’t afraid to show it. Luckily I count them as assholes on my journey to the upper crust of distinction and debutante.
My WeightWatchers group leader is a master mind of farm fed guilt and half truths. If I had my way I’d cut out her tongue and eat it with reduced calorie dressing, possibly raspberry vinagrette. Lost 3.4 pounds, hickory doo!
Alas lassie, I leased your Legacy to the lethargic lumberjack with the loopy left eye, my bad
In an act of rebellion I planned calling in sick so I could be here when the cable company comes to return me to my mental abyss including MTV and I’m not ashamed to admit, Disney Channel.
In an act of rebellion, my immune system misunderstood the calculating planning I was doing in my head to prepare for calling in sick and released the sinus infection worm resulting in calling in sick today to be partly true and partly a dirty nasty lie
after my pseudo-fake calling in sick paradigm I returned to shanktown. those evil natured robots commented on how sick I looked, how pale I am and how tired I seem. One woman even told me my hair didn’t look good today... whateves, the real bomb dropped when the pathological liar I call supervisor called in sick for the rest of March. As mysteries go I assume his dick fell off in a failed circle jerk session but others whisper of depression, scarlet fever or even Step Throat!!! If shitsicle gets a month off for depression I’ll be collecting any time
as Michael Jackson so painfully states it in Beat It, “your a vegetable, and they hate you”. I’m feeling vegetabalion today. Nothing happened today, save my job blowing narly chunks of bonifide bullshit all over my life. My not-so-supervisor is still on “medical leave”(sex change). Last night I learned C and G7, the downfall of my guitar lessons; my teacher is less Lenny Kravitz, more Old Man Long Fingernails. I’m pretty sure the lesson are targeted at young children seeing as the kid before me is probably 8 and the one after me is 10, maybe I’ll be teachers pet
spent the day in training, only one man in training and even though he’s five inches shorter than me and going bald I become instantly attracted in a purley sexual sense. Hes really not that attractive but he’s the only penis in a room of vaginas. the training is so boring and after a while being attracted to him becomes boring. he eats with his mouth closed and asks the presenters for examples. we are instructed to get into small groups and nonchalantly join his only to learn he’s as stupid as he is unattractive. what a waste of time.
i think i thought i saw her on 8th and 40 deuce
i’m contemplating packing it all up and moving down to Southern California. All my friends live there, its almost always sunny and it would be a break from constant monotony that has gotten me...i’m two suitcases away from doing it but my student loans put me in check. for practically the entirety of my existence I will be paying 108.07 to some abbreviated devil spawn that payed my school off so they could pimp me to the most ballenest playa. i can’t be troubled to make such decisions
I just finished reading “Rules of Attraction” for the second time, you were right, James Van Der Beek is way hotter in fiction. Spent the day pretending not be hungry and drinking diet coke. Wrote you poem but then wiped my ass with it, my life is literal. Realized skittles is a really good name for my band, either that or milk. both have that easy to remember quality but also that happily ironic twist that makes dreams of melodramatics. i’m not allowed to wear jeans to work anymore, facist regime or what?
On the real tweeter,
meat less corn dogs, you are my god. i worship your tasty batter and pray nightly to the mighty veggie dog. oh you delicious deity.
i’m stuck in the middle, of greatness and gross
i can’t decide what i want most
do i want to stay and continue to be
or move on with my life, ever bravely
i’ve got a job and money to spend
i miss my true being and all my friends
if i make a mistake, will i ever recover
if i meet someone new, will he be my lover
i must decide; greatness or gross
today while (ex)communicating myself to my co-worker/snake charming manbride, i realized the importance of words, not like a revelation or anything just one of those flashlights in the fog. as a hypocrite, i can’t stand hearing someone pass judgment but in the large comfy safe zone of my head i call it like i see it and yee who wanna kiss my ass, go right ahead. so this afternoon while enjoying an extra sick frozen entree my nemesis du jour challenged me with the unspoken fortitude of a thousand sunsets. ahah! she cried in the security of her righteousness. indeed
its not blood running through me, its diet coke
its not the beatles i listen to, its tone loc
i’m kraft cheese
real friends or blood hungry enemies
fart knockers and Rebel yells
back seat sluts and southern belles
alphabetize my numeric hell
trivialize my wooden cell
self inflicted solitary care
There’s an albatross out tonight
He left his wallet out of spite
I bet it all on a alley cock fight
Lost my chicken to a strong right
yabba dabba barney rubble
bam bam’s dead, your in trouble
triple wilma, double down
don’t applesauce my thorny crown
as smart as i know i am, i came up with a real brain attack driving home from work, usually making my way back to decency i talk myself out of quitting, spiking someone’s drink with diarrhea inducer or leaving anonymous shits in the bathroom sink. i came up with a name for my as yet formed band, the Tripendales, or i could sell it to a bong manufacturer, hemp clothing designer or form together a group of earth lovin hippies who sway and fray at saturday markets across the northwest. a play on words is especially appealing to me
today was another training, this time it was called a forum but it was basically a catered training. the food was excellent, of course the chef wasn’t considering my weight watchers obligations, and either was i. on the table were packets of bees wax to keep your hands busy so you don’t pick your nose or fall asleep snoring. if not for the bees wax i would have never existed beyond 10:15. i heard from a man who researches brain development in young children, a man who leads fathering groups and two of the most boring women in the state.
somewhere there’s someone using their saturday productivly. doing laundry, washing dishes, showering. i’m on stike from everyday essentials, i ate doritoes which i’ll probably end up in purgatory for, haven’t even washed my hands and choose the couch as an alternative to my unmade bed for sleeping and talking on the phone. i understand downtown theres a march against the war, in which if i wasn’t diagnosed as lazy for life, i’d be participating in. yesterday i went shopping with half a friend(we work together and at times socially engage) and she had unclaimed farts all over the mall, damn
been dreaming incosistently this month, wake up shivering from the reality i thought i knew or sometimes can’t remember if i was even asleep. the cat, named baby, as an endearing remark on her innocent cuteness has turned into a crack baby who attacks my feet as soon as she senses i’m no longer awake and by super-feline power figured out how to open my bedroom door in the middle of the night. i wish i could sell her to a band of traveling gypsies promising to guide her along to adult cathood, i can’t find any gypsies i trust.
i skipped weight watchers tonight, just for this one time because i didn’t want to be faced with the ugly selfesteemacide of gaining weight and i was pretty sure after my doritoes fest over the weekend i’d be plussing it up. 6:30, i could call my friends but they’d just ask me about the meeting, my mom the same, i’m tired. my job is a stinky pile of rotting fruit. someone new started today, it was cruel and deliberate not to warn her of the effortless shit, at first its good but then it transforms your brain into canned pork
hate the playa not the game
hate the wound and not the pain
hate the clouds without the rain
hate the fraiser and the crane
hate the candles burning flame
hate the haters pointing blame
hate the american idol fame
hate your ugly middle name
hate your hereditary bad aim
hate your job thats really lame
hate that shrew who’s really tame
hate that your turby twist never came
hate that no more words rhyme with game
define your hate particularly, against those inanimate innocent objects.
hate is ugly, save it for Bush
Peace to you, because it can be
yeah the world is falling apart, sure i was supposed to exercise before dinner, of course i’m paying that credit card bill this month, come one, “i don’t sniff coke, i only smoke the sensimilla”. an old friend from college drove through my foggy shit cloud last night. we rented jason x because one smokey summer we watched every Friday the 13th and needed to catch the newest release. the movie was the worst of the series, real shit bomb. at blockbuster i saw a man yelling at his two kids and cursed the day i became a mandated reporter.
i’m overwhelmed with the news coverage of the war, friends was pre-empted for iraq attack. peace is all i can think, when doodling earlier i couldn’t remember which sign was for mercedes-benz and which for peace. my first car was a mercedes, 1979 silver tank of a mother. something was wrong with the engine and i could drive the car without the key in the ignition but to turn the car off i had to open the hood and push a button. it died one summer day at some secret swimming hole in cottage grove. it was my dads car
those god damned bible banging mother fuckers, for the past few weeks i’ve had a message on my answering machine telling those who call i am NOT part of the prayer chain and please discontinue calling me. having not received any messages from “Sue” about “grandma who took a turn for the worse” or that Johnny Whatisfucks fell down some stairs asking me to not only pray for these assholes but pass the message on, changed my answering machine back to a cordial greeting only to be slapped with another son of a fuck message from the prayer chain anonymous...
should i be maintaining a candle light vigil for the war, or writing about my strong convictions regarding peaceful resolutions? should I be focusing my free time on anti-war protests, or signing up for email alerts with the latest news? cause i’m not. i’m maintaining a candle light vigil for my skin because due to the oncoming heavy flow of my period i’ve had a heartbreaking onslaught of pimples on my chin. well, right now its just one pimple with a mastermind white head. i’ve been proactivating myself all day long in hopes of diminishing acne before monday. peace please
hard reconnecting with the long lost. someone who you’ve known for what seems like your entire life, because socially your life did begin in seventh grade. someone who sat next to you for years as your best friend, who came over when your dad died and invited you to tailgate parties. miles and time have slashed our relationship into tiny pieces of happy birthday calls and random emails. two to tango at least, it takes hard work to make special things last for a long time. don’t bullshit yourself, i’m tired of working so hard, or hardly working at all.
call me a pop-culture nazi, garden variety monthly cosmo reader with no boyfriend to try out the sexy tricks that will drive him into submission, call me as you please but i can’t help identifying with the lyrics to the theme of friends. its a checklist of my personal development over the last few years. my job is a fucking joke, i’m totally broke and my love life has been frozen in a time capsule to be opened when i’ve grown out these irresistible insecurities and problem hair. i’m 24 and already destined to a life of sitcom theme songs
taco bell was a dream i used to have, creamy beefy deliciousness of it is almost sexual in goodness. i’m regulated to steamed vegetables and a spray on butter life. actually enjoyed work today, an impressionable, interesting discussion about the culture of poverty. when someone slaps perspective in your face it stings for a minute, then you begin to understand and empathize with yourself, everyone around you seemingly likes you better. i think if i had a one woman show i would either call it the "empathetic sympathizer" or "taco bell and its essential ingredient in a young womans life".
trying not to think too hard because i have a headache. can’t remember why i have a headache but its probabably a really good reason. i broke out my old pauls boutique cd, the cleverest rhymes. its the beginning of my spring break which is actually just a school teachers word for mandatory time off. basically my job bully’s me into taking these days off so i don’t get to spend a month in the swollen rivers of the amazon or dance on the burning sands of la isla bonita. a couple of days off will save me from myself.
its a cliche for a young single drop dead gorgeous woman like myself to shop at IKEA, i can’t help that the allure of cheap swedish furniture is like a tractor beam sucking me in with home decorating ideals. what ikea doesn’t understand is you can’t fuck around with young drop dead gorgeous types. get home from the marketplace which resembled a casting call for maniacal furniture junkies to find the “bergen” bed i purchased didn’t come with either instructions or one of the most important pieces. after several angry phone calls Ikeas’ sending me reinforcements and kissing my ass.
today was an experience in happiness. my mom is widowed, 53 just ended a relationship with this real dick; my brother is 18, mildly mentally retarded graduates from high school academic program in june transitions into a life skills program september. me, 24 on the road to personal ideals and gratification. my family. we visited spectacular waterfalls just miles away from my house. they were so beautiful, feeling the cool spray on my face. for granted. i love my family, my mom is amazing, my brother, annoying as any other little brother is amazing too, and i guess i’m amazing
its sunny and wonderful today. unfortunatley instead of exercising, taking a shower or eating a balanced meal i’ve been watching mtv’s spring break all day long. i become entranced by the television and can’t figure out the formula to ending my poisonous addiction to its loving glow. maybe if i wasn’t so cracked out on diet coke and pretzels i’d be able to control myself. when my mom and brother were visiting they insisted we eat at buffets. they like it because they can both get what they want but its like a suicide mission for someone on weight watchers
i’m not feeling very existential, i don’t even think i know what existential means. something like extra smart or able to see the truth, maybe i’m wrong and not feeling existential is just an excuse for my ignorance. sunday is that deep breath of relaxation right before i fall asleep and i’m not making any excuses for my inability to define commonly used words. spring break ends tomorrow when i go back to work, i’m in fake suspense on whether my elusive supervisor will return or move to the australian desert working in traveling drag shows, shit or swim baby
the end of the month comes in affirmations. yes, simon from american idol and colin farell from my sweet hot dreams are sexy. yes my job reeks of the perspiration of a thousand sweat shops and my supervisor is on the lamb from the asshole justice league. yes, weight watchers is one of those remarkable failures i subcum to once a week. yes, my cat has been permanently forsaken by the other side, the power of christ compels you. yes, i’m a slave to those crack dealers and prostee’s of organized brainwashing at mtv. can i give you my autograph
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