While I Walked Down Pico Tonight
1:45 PM W 10-28-98
Dawn Delgado of "Book Pals" is here reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to my class. She's got wide eyes and heavy breasts, of a form the first artists used to carve idols, wearing overalls today and hair in pigtails like a farm girl. I have lusted in my heart many times. What else? What new can I say? Miss Villasenor is out on the playground. Shrill said she wouldn't be coming over tonight. She picked up doctor's togs for me. Still need a surgical mask and some fake blood. We talked about renting a limo on Halloween. What else? Not a lot to report. I'm supposed to think about protection. What protections do I use in my daily life? I guess it refers to psychological defenses. Maybe Jim or Aaron or one of the girls could talk about protection as in condoms. Miss Delgado is done reading all ready. Now she's leaving. Pity.
8:56 PM There's nothing to write. I only have fifteen students tonight. My class is going to get closed. All the extra work I've done in the last two years just to get to zero. What will keep me from falling back in the hole by this time next year? All this financial worrying--it never used to affect me, but now, the system owns me, owns my mind now, too. It's no wonder I can't write.
Every time I put on "Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control," I fall asleep. It's a documentary about a naked African mole rat researcher, a lion tamer, a topiary gardener, and robot designer thrown into a blender with B-movie stock footage and old cartoons.
I kept Independence Day open while I walked down Pico tonight and read it bit by bit as I passed under each street light. You can just about read from one light to another. What else? I'll make pot stickers with spaghetti sauce when I get home. All of the sudden, I think I'll finally do the rollerblader scene tonight. I saw a Foster's beer in the fridge, on the bottom shelf, way in the back, hiding. The jig is up for him now, though.
Dawn Delgado of "Book Pals" is here reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to my class. She's got wide eyes and heavy breasts, of a form the first artists used to carve idols, wearing overalls today and hair in pigtails like a farm girl. I have lusted in my heart many times. What else? What new can I say? Miss Villasenor is out on the playground. Shrill said she wouldn't be coming over tonight. She picked up doctor's togs for me. Still need a surgical mask and some fake blood. We talked about renting a limo on Halloween. What else? Not a lot to report. I'm supposed to think about protection. What protections do I use in my daily life? I guess it refers to psychological defenses. Maybe Jim or Aaron or one of the girls could talk about protection as in condoms. Miss Delgado is done reading all ready. Now she's leaving. Pity.
8:56 PM There's nothing to write. I only have fifteen students tonight. My class is going to get closed. All the extra work I've done in the last two years just to get to zero. What will keep me from falling back in the hole by this time next year? All this financial worrying--it never used to affect me, but now, the system owns me, owns my mind now, too. It's no wonder I can't write.
Every time I put on "Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control," I fall asleep. It's a documentary about a naked African mole rat researcher, a lion tamer, a topiary gardener, and robot designer thrown into a blender with B-movie stock footage and old cartoons.
I kept Independence Day open while I walked down Pico tonight and read it bit by bit as I passed under each street light. You can just about read from one light to another. What else? I'll make pot stickers with spaghetti sauce when I get home. All of the sudden, I think I'll finally do the rollerblader scene tonight. I saw a Foster's beer in the fridge, on the bottom shelf, way in the back, hiding. The jig is up for him now, though.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 11:24 AM
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