5-15-01 M 11:51 AMI typed fifteen minutes this morning. Ate a little bagel. Drank some coffee. Dressed. Brushed my teeth, my hair. Drove to work. Read a Surah of the Koran called "The Angels." More warnings. I hate be so flippant, but that's about all it is: Warnings of doom for non-believers. I'm skipping lunch. The kids bombed their subtraction test. I pray that I get this other job. I'll read from that Mysteries of the Bible book when I finish writing these three pages. Then I've got to type a third person page. The tow yard. Then I'll read some Rimbaud. Then I've got to try to get Jim to page one fifty-eight. Then I'll read the newspaper. I have to bring some more fucked-up, out-of-order dictionaries to be exchanged at LACAS. Buy some more Expressways books. Get some exercise. Work on "Jeopardy!" speech. Have a smoke. Take a crap. Rochelle has class tonight. I think she has a test. There's a hockey game on this afternoon, too. I'm not sure which one. What else? Do I need a new suit? I'm in the shitter now. The bell just rang. I've got to get online and send my brother some books. What else? [blue ink line sketch of Assyrian winged bull with human head] Sacrilege. [blue ink line sketch of man under a tree with a girl in his arms and a bottle in his hands] Rimbaud, passed out under a tree with a bottle of wine and a like-minded girl. I'll read a story to the kids today. I'm hungry. What else? Fuck. The tow yard. Are the keys in the ignition? Does he have to go back? Should I play basketball today? The principal gave us a book called Teachers are Special. If you read between the lines, it's actual title is Teachers Have Low Self-Esteem, and Some of Them Are Dumb Enough and Desperate Enough Not to Feel Like Losers If You Butter Them Up with Enough Condescending Platitudes. I need some acupuncture. The shades are drawn. I can't see the sky. Can't write about the weather. The Teachers Are Special book has a heart-shaped apple on the cover. Maybe I can make some fish tacos when I get home. Jose is look at a book about Paris. He wishes he could live in the Palais d' Luxumbourg.

5-11-01 7:12 PM F

So, I’m on Wilshire thinkin’ I’m all grown up now, mature and wiser because I only roll smokes at red lights now and not while I’m actually driving. [A page written with a pen with no ink in it that cannot be read at all, though the impressions of a few words can be deciphered] I think I left my composition book at school. I’m home now. The baby’s fussing on the floor. I put her in the big chair. She likes it there. Rochelle went to the gym. I opened a dialog when I got home to try to talk about what’s “wrong.” Whatever. We didn’t really get anywhere. We went to bed and watched the beginning of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” before falling asleep. Heard rain in the night. Woke up about seven. The baby has been mostly playful, blowing a lot of raspberries. I need to get something for Rochelle for Mont3er’s Day. Her mom is coming up today. We may go to a place called Cha Cha tonight. This guy Eusebio who started at Wilshire Hill is a drummer in a band called Cuba Libre. He says he’s toured with Eric Clapton, Bob Seger, and George Harrison. He said George Harrison used to have a pet dragonfly that followed him around, and one day, Clapton said, “Hey, George,” clapped the dragonfly between his hands, and killed it.

              “A pet dragonfly? Was it on a thread or something?” I asked.

              “No,” Eusebio answered. “It just used to follow him around. I don’t know how—he was all into that Hindu mystic stuff.”

              Hunger. Rimbaud. Third-person page. Jim’s on his way to the tow yard. Police escort. Read the paper. Look online. Do I have enough money to buy a scanner and burner this month? Where are those guitar strings I ordered? Should call Grandma. Sen that letter to Mac. Order him some books. Got a little bossa nova on the radio. Ada had some mashed sweet potatoes for breakfast. A drawing would be good now, but I’m too lazy. I need to go for a bike ride. What else? It’s overcast today. The skies are leaden and dull. Baby’s got some toast now. She’s hanging from the doorjamb in her jumper, bouncing around. I’ve got to look in the phone book for health spas, masseuses, masseurs, facials, manicures, pedicures, etc. What else? Stanley Cup Playoffs are on at noon today. Lakers killed Sacramento last night. Four more lines. What else? The people on this game show are stupid.