Fri. Jan 31
It's getting dark out. My lungs are full of crap again. I stopped at the stone library on Olympic on the way home from school. The inside is a let-down compared to the statliness of the outside. Yah. They've got a so-so collection of fiction, good biographies, though. I checked out Linda Ashour's book, Sweet Remedy.
I read some more Neruda poems. They haven't been leaving much of an impression. It's more my fault than his. The ones I read today are about the Spanish Revolution. Bloody poems. Visceral. The anguish is real.
I'm hungry. I want Thai, but I need someone to split the bill with me, and no one is around. I have a hankering to visit the bud shop. Mark and Terry will be at the Improv on Melrose tonight. The Thai place I want to go to is on Melrose. I'll want some wine, though, and then what? I'll have to find a place to leave my car where it won't get towed, and then take a cab. It could turn into a hundred dollar night. Maybe Carlin will want to go. The GIP called, but he said his dad is bringing back Taco Bell, so he dunt wanna go for any Thai.
What else? Damn. The month is already over. There were some things I meant to do and didn't. Write Howrad. Cal Boushay for example. I'll probably just wind up eating peanut butter and jelly. I haven't any inclination to work on Jim.
Carlin got home. She'll go. If she drives, I'll buy. What the God damn motherfuck else? I'm gunther drink wine. No cigarettes tonight. I'll bring my pipe and notebook, though. Stevie Ray Vaughn is on the radio. "If the house is a rockin' don't bother knockin', come on in. My writing sucks. I should have worked at being an actor. I should have gone into the military. I should sit at my desk all fucking night. Sanyo rattled me in a dream.
AAAAAHGH! Fuck Fuck Help. Give me something. I need to pray to God. I didn't pray last night, and that's how I got this way. Just one more stinking line------------------
It's getting dark out. My lungs are full of crap again. I stopped at the stone library on Olympic on the way home from school. The inside is a let-down compared to the statliness of the outside. Yah. They've got a so-so collection of fiction, good biographies, though. I checked out Linda Ashour's book, Sweet Remedy.
I read some more Neruda poems. They haven't been leaving much of an impression. It's more my fault than his. The ones I read today are about the Spanish Revolution. Bloody poems. Visceral. The anguish is real.
I'm hungry. I want Thai, but I need someone to split the bill with me, and no one is around. I have a hankering to visit the bud shop. Mark and Terry will be at the Improv on Melrose tonight. The Thai place I want to go to is on Melrose. I'll want some wine, though, and then what? I'll have to find a place to leave my car where it won't get towed, and then take a cab. It could turn into a hundred dollar night. Maybe Carlin will want to go. The GIP called, but he said his dad is bringing back Taco Bell, so he dunt wanna go for any Thai.
What else? Damn. The month is already over. There were some things I meant to do and didn't. Write Howrad. Cal Boushay for example. I'll probably just wind up eating peanut butter and jelly. I haven't any inclination to work on Jim.
Carlin got home. She'll go. If she drives, I'll buy. What the God damn motherfuck else? I'm gunther drink wine. No cigarettes tonight. I'll bring my pipe and notebook, though. Stevie Ray Vaughn is on the radio. "If the house is a rockin' don't bother knockin', come on in. My writing sucks. I should have worked at being an actor. I should have gone into the military. I should sit at my desk all fucking night. Sanyo rattled me in a dream.
AAAAAHGH! Fuck Fuck Help. Give me something. I need to pray to God. I didn't pray last night, and that's how I got this way. Just one more stinking line------------------
posted by johnz at 4:52 PM
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