Anonymous Immortality
Th 2-26
What's there to say? I stopped at a nasty liquor store on my way back from downtown. The word fLesh was sloppily grafittied aside a door of iron bars before a stairway leading to darkness. I tarried there not. I eenie-meenied between twelve packs of Bud and Miller Lite and ended on the Miller. I slid my fingers through the cardboard handle and took a couple steps toward the counter and froze. What about those Ranier tall cans? I went back and switched. At the counter, a Pacific Asian Islander said, "Seven dollars" and nothing else. I handed him a twenty, and he gave me change. There were a bunch of cheap little children's toys on the wall, I don't even know what they were, but they made a little something somewhere in me want to cry for the poor kid that got such crap.
Joyce from Salary Allocation just called. They had relocated my salary status file that they couldn't find while I was in there today. Turns out I don't actually have enough salary units to move up the pay scale like I thought after they convert quarter units to semester units.
I just got off the phone with a guy named Marco who teaches a class called Guitar for Teachers worth two salary points. It's just down the street.
Shirelle's gone. There's nothing left of her here but the wound. I'll treat it as superficial, no stitches, let it scab over and heal, leave a faint scar.
Jehovah's Witnesses just rang the bell.
I ate a bacon cheeseburger just like I said I would. The meat was a little crunchy. Soon I'll check out that one Mexican place on La Brea across from the tea joint.
The Wallace Stevens book is called The Necessary Angel. So far he's talking about the noble and ignoble chariots with winged horses that Plato describes in Phaedrus. It was about fruity.
Kate and Jules and I need to send each other's work out.
What else? Got Charlie Parker on again. What will I eat? I'll watch "Jeopardy" at seven. I can play guitar for twenty minutes tonight. I started Linda's book. I read Neruda's "Machu Pichu". It was cool. He is forever lifted from the baseness of his life which he describes early in the poem by the experience of Machu Pichu. You can see how a poet would be affected by the anonymous immortality of a place like that. Maybe I'll call the Pepper and see if he wants to go out for a few drinks tonight. Maybe that's him calling now.
What's there to say? I stopped at a nasty liquor store on my way back from downtown. The word fLesh was sloppily grafittied aside a door of iron bars before a stairway leading to darkness. I tarried there not. I eenie-meenied between twelve packs of Bud and Miller Lite and ended on the Miller. I slid my fingers through the cardboard handle and took a couple steps toward the counter and froze. What about those Ranier tall cans? I went back and switched. At the counter, a Pacific Asian Islander said, "Seven dollars" and nothing else. I handed him a twenty, and he gave me change. There were a bunch of cheap little children's toys on the wall, I don't even know what they were, but they made a little something somewhere in me want to cry for the poor kid that got such crap.
Joyce from Salary Allocation just called. They had relocated my salary status file that they couldn't find while I was in there today. Turns out I don't actually have enough salary units to move up the pay scale like I thought after they convert quarter units to semester units.
I just got off the phone with a guy named Marco who teaches a class called Guitar for Teachers worth two salary points. It's just down the street.
Shirelle's gone. There's nothing left of her here but the wound. I'll treat it as superficial, no stitches, let it scab over and heal, leave a faint scar.
Jehovah's Witnesses just rang the bell.
I ate a bacon cheeseburger just like I said I would. The meat was a little crunchy. Soon I'll check out that one Mexican place on La Brea across from the tea joint.
The Wallace Stevens book is called The Necessary Angel. So far he's talking about the noble and ignoble chariots with winged horses that Plato describes in Phaedrus. It was about fruity.
Kate and Jules and I need to send each other's work out.
What else? Got Charlie Parker on again. What will I eat? I'll watch "Jeopardy" at seven. I can play guitar for twenty minutes tonight. I started Linda's book. I read Neruda's "Machu Pichu". It was cool. He is forever lifted from the baseness of his life which he describes early in the poem by the experience of Machu Pichu. You can see how a poet would be affected by the anonymous immortality of a place like that. Maybe I'll call the Pepper and see if he wants to go out for a few drinks tonight. Maybe that's him calling now.
posted by johnz at 6:15 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home