She Wanted Diamonds. I Wanted Water.
Fri (actually Sat 12:50 AM) 2-7/2-8
Steven influences 40,000 people five days a week. "Steve". No one's sure what button to press. Pablo tries to use soothing tones. High barbed fence rabid dogs wired. "Steve," I asked, "do you drink bottled water or tap?"
"Tap," he answered.
Pleasure Prison, said the movie.
She wanted diamonds.
I wanted water.
Sat 2-8
Let's see. I started the evening with two Rainier tall cans or three. Then I had a liter of wine at that Italian hole in the wall on Wilshire down there on the Westside with the red and white checkered tablecloths. Two bourbon or three at Q's and a Jameson's at Houston's. I didn't feel that fucked up, but I've got a headache this morning. The house is sadder and emptier, but I also kind of feel like I won the lottery. Dave Doss is working up funds for a documentary about 24-hour Vegas chapel weddings. Vegas. Vague us. I'll definitely have to treadmill today. I've just come from Bob's (Big Boy). I won't write what I ate. I need to go to the market. Pablo's having a party at his house in Rosemead tonight. Thing's vacuuming. Shirelle's gone. Mr. Martinez came by last night. Count Basie and Duke Ellington are jazzin' up the room. I feel sick. I hate alcohol. I'm going to do right tonight. Whatever that means. I put the paddleball thing into Jim last night. For my next trick I don't know. I've got to start thinking about the girls. Oh my. I wanted to write a bunch of letteers today, but I'm lying in bed hungover sick. My mouth is dry. Dave showed a profanity-filled cartoon of Jesus fighting Santa Claus. Oliver McCall broke down in the ring last night. My muscles are sore. I'm going to take a shower if I ever finish these three pages. Then I'll type for fifteen minutes. I'll call Bernie and Kathleen today. I'm missing that dictionary again. Oh, the irony! What I miss most about her is that big-ass dictionary, and she's illiterate. Ha. I want to look up the word shambles. I'm going fishing tomorrow. Hydrogen and Oxygen. I've got to make a shopping list. I can't think of another thing to write. There's a demon hiding in the flowers of that Hawaiian-print shirt.
Steven influences 40,000 people five days a week. "Steve". No one's sure what button to press. Pablo tries to use soothing tones. High barbed fence rabid dogs wired. "Steve," I asked, "do you drink bottled water or tap?"
"Tap," he answered.
Pleasure Prison, said the movie.
She wanted diamonds.
I wanted water.
Sat 2-8
Let's see. I started the evening with two Rainier tall cans or three. Then I had a liter of wine at that Italian hole in the wall on Wilshire down there on the Westside with the red and white checkered tablecloths. Two bourbon or three at Q's and a Jameson's at Houston's. I didn't feel that fucked up, but I've got a headache this morning. The house is sadder and emptier, but I also kind of feel like I won the lottery. Dave Doss is working up funds for a documentary about 24-hour Vegas chapel weddings. Vegas. Vague us. I'll definitely have to treadmill today. I've just come from Bob's (Big Boy). I won't write what I ate. I need to go to the market. Pablo's having a party at his house in Rosemead tonight. Thing's vacuuming. Shirelle's gone. Mr. Martinez came by last night. Count Basie and Duke Ellington are jazzin' up the room. I feel sick. I hate alcohol. I'm going to do right tonight. Whatever that means. I put the paddleball thing into Jim last night. For my next trick I don't know. I've got to start thinking about the girls. Oh my. I wanted to write a bunch of letteers today, but I'm lying in bed hungover sick. My mouth is dry. Dave showed a profanity-filled cartoon of Jesus fighting Santa Claus. Oliver McCall broke down in the ring last night. My muscles are sore. I'm going to take a shower if I ever finish these three pages. Then I'll type for fifteen minutes. I'll call Bernie and Kathleen today. I'm missing that dictionary again. Oh, the irony! What I miss most about her is that big-ass dictionary, and she's illiterate. Ha. I want to look up the word shambles. I'm going fishing tomorrow. Hydrogen and Oxygen. I've got to make a shopping list. I can't think of another thing to write. There's a demon hiding in the flowers of that Hawaiian-print shirt.
posted by johnz at 9:57 AM
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