4-10 Th 3:00 PM
On the shitter in the Holy Spirit Retreat Center/Concentration Camp. This place is killing me. We're not getting paid for it either. What else? I'm tired. If I go home I could try to make to make arrangements to go out to the desert to see Hale-Bopp. It's hard to think. Rosy, who I always feel doesn't like me, said I was a "neat" person. Neat? Obviously, she despises me. I see now that it's because she's a virulent racist and nothing to do with me being a jackass. Actually, I got some nice compliments today. Whatever. I'm not getting any exercise at this place. Every hour is accounted for. Rosy asked me where I was going after I had eaten dinner and gotten up. "What do I have to tell you for?" I didn't say. I said, "I'm going to look for the comet." "Oh, we'll come with you," she said. So, Yuri Iguana and Lin Aokay and Rosy Fujimoto followed me outside to look for the comet. There it was, a blurry blob in the sky, bigger than the stars, but not as big as the moon. Yuri said it gave her a feeling. "Like wonder?" I said, but she said something indicating doom and superstition.
Hiddly-ho. I told her about being alone on Palomar mountain after having seen the pictures of all the galaxies, and how if you could see something that was millions of light years away, and if you could fit something that was millions of light years across in a picture, and that when distance becomes time and time becomes distance, that when you look at stars, you look thousands of years into the past, that what you see today is not how it looks today, but long ago, then you sleep alone in a sleeping bag under the sky, not only do you get spooked, you become irrevocably changed. "Oh," she said. "Anyway, I think you've got enough air in your tire to get to the gas station and have it patched without ruining your rims." It's a rear tire so her steering shouldn't be affected much.
These conferences always have the same affect on me: I get bored and start looking at the women and wondering what it would be like to bone them. It's too hard to think here, and that's odd because it's a RETREAT. There's no stimulation and no potential. I got a joint in my bag, but no matches. I'd probably set off a smoke alarm anyway, and the place would be evacuated, and I obviously can't go outside by myself. It's like rehab.
What else? I'm struggling with this, and I still have fifteen minutes to type. I want to read my book still, too. I'm tired, though. Maybe I should just crash. I haven't showered today. This dude named Jeff, a muscular and evil-looking dude, said he saw a line of ducks at the pond taking turns gangbanging another duck, "just pushing her head down and going at it." I need consent and desire, myself. Yeah. Ugh. Just writing any old thing. Blah blah blah. I wish I could do my e-mail.
All of a sudden there are all these girls I like. How do I pick one and go for it? Conduct interviews? I wish I was home working on this problem right now. I wonder if what I've been saying here is terribly inconsistent.
Debbie and I did a male/female role reversal skit. Debbie was trying to read the paper while I was trying to show her a new pair of shoes. We had spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. I had two helpings. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I fucking hate this! What else? Get it over with. Finito. Termine. Get there. GO go go go go go go to bed, fool. I ratted on my father here. I'm done. Game over. Out of here. Adios. G'bye.
On the shitter in the Holy Spirit Retreat Center/Concentration Camp. This place is killing me. We're not getting paid for it either. What else? I'm tired. If I go home I could try to make to make arrangements to go out to the desert to see Hale-Bopp. It's hard to think. Rosy, who I always feel doesn't like me, said I was a "neat" person. Neat? Obviously, she despises me. I see now that it's because she's a virulent racist and nothing to do with me being a jackass. Actually, I got some nice compliments today. Whatever. I'm not getting any exercise at this place. Every hour is accounted for. Rosy asked me where I was going after I had eaten dinner and gotten up. "What do I have to tell you for?" I didn't say. I said, "I'm going to look for the comet." "Oh, we'll come with you," she said. So, Yuri Iguana and Lin Aokay and Rosy Fujimoto followed me outside to look for the comet. There it was, a blurry blob in the sky, bigger than the stars, but not as big as the moon. Yuri said it gave her a feeling. "Like wonder?" I said, but she said something indicating doom and superstition.
Hiddly-ho. I told her about being alone on Palomar mountain after having seen the pictures of all the galaxies, and how if you could see something that was millions of light years away, and if you could fit something that was millions of light years across in a picture, and that when distance becomes time and time becomes distance, that when you look at stars, you look thousands of years into the past, that what you see today is not how it looks today, but long ago, then you sleep alone in a sleeping bag under the sky, not only do you get spooked, you become irrevocably changed. "Oh," she said. "Anyway, I think you've got enough air in your tire to get to the gas station and have it patched without ruining your rims." It's a rear tire so her steering shouldn't be affected much.
These conferences always have the same affect on me: I get bored and start looking at the women and wondering what it would be like to bone them. It's too hard to think here, and that's odd because it's a RETREAT. There's no stimulation and no potential. I got a joint in my bag, but no matches. I'd probably set off a smoke alarm anyway, and the place would be evacuated, and I obviously can't go outside by myself. It's like rehab.
What else? I'm struggling with this, and I still have fifteen minutes to type. I want to read my book still, too. I'm tired, though. Maybe I should just crash. I haven't showered today. This dude named Jeff, a muscular and evil-looking dude, said he saw a line of ducks at the pond taking turns gangbanging another duck, "just pushing her head down and going at it." I need consent and desire, myself. Yeah. Ugh. Just writing any old thing. Blah blah blah. I wish I could do my e-mail.
All of a sudden there are all these girls I like. How do I pick one and go for it? Conduct interviews? I wish I was home working on this problem right now. I wonder if what I've been saying here is terribly inconsistent.
Debbie and I did a male/female role reversal skit. Debbie was trying to read the paper while I was trying to show her a new pair of shoes. We had spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner. I had two helpings. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I fucking hate this! What else? Get it over with. Finito. Termine. Get there. GO go go go go go go to bed, fool. I ratted on my father here. I'm done. Game over. Out of here. Adios. G'bye.
posted by johnz at 6:23 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home