Hammer

Maybe that’s why his eyes are so bright.

It's because we're reminiscing about Hagel now. Or the general thing effused.

There was once a girl with red hair and green eyes and she rocked.
And then after the smug perching, I wished I wrote it.

I promise you later, it'll upchuck copious #'s

some things are like other things gone bad.
like tuna and rice cakes.
?'s : smell.


Tonight I will be your man, Seattle, so be a lady to me.

Once I had thought (or not)

Something to amuse us all:
Danica circa 2001.

"Down by the bay,
The sun always beams,
While those gossiping clams,
Talk of meaningless things."


I did manage to read through most of my "writings". It was kind of pitiful. If not completely.

They all relate. Don't be (im)pertinent.

I don't smoke enough. Also, I think I just saw what I think to be a heron. Thinks.
I need to write more. Perhaps I will.

Gigglewick Schooner

It's either all bad or I smile too much.

world tackles

I realize that I could use this space to vent my spleen. There's a lot, and it certainly could help. But if, eventually, I choose to share these scrambles with my peers (the inevitable), then I'd rather, at least try, to grapple more than just the mind-grimace moments of my days. Though I will smile to you now and say, "Fuck that shit".

This little blogger ain't called Harangue for no reason, bitches.


You do realize that "bitches", a plural jest, can only refer to singular me, right? I am the one I let into this blog: you shouldn't be offended. Now go eat your winklings and toad over it more.

Chang's

If I ever have a husband, I'll want him whimsical and weak. He'll die young from food poisoning after eating his usual dish at our usual table in the back of Chang's, where the lights are slightly dimmer and we're closer to the kitchen.
In remembrance, I'll start a foundation to find the cure for some macabre disease. The foundation will be his Christian name followed by a question mark, and it'll make him sound alive.
I'll never cry for the loss of him.
I'll publish his memoir. It will be pure fiction.


I'll fix this later.

plum skins

No one may see it. Not even the to be. He'll fuck me with a blindfold, or his eyes on a Playboy magazine that I'll purchase for him whenever he feels the urge to rub rub our sacred parts.

Post 5 Pot

If I think about existing then I find life tragically difficult. It's only when I think about a gesture-- any physical expression. I focus on voluntary movement;wed;I am incensed at my existence. Example: Fuck, I'm thinking about picking up that pen. That pen is at least a foot away. I petulantly refuse to extend my hand to clench my fingers to pick up that pen. I will sit here and rot until that pen sprouts legs and skitters over, and Fuck You to whatever law of "insert scientific rule" that is keeping that pen from me. I will expound on this later once I figure this out.


It will be gratifying.

good morning, honey

I just finished a little excursion with Allen to 8th and Etruria. I seem to have more significant exchanges with friends when sitting, smoking, on the steps of that house.

During this death walk I mapped out the entire area and watched my back excessively: I just finished watching Dawn of the Dead.

Zombies also seem to be a major focal point of my social circle.

I haven't yet decided if I'm quite willing to be too invested in the dead. But who knows, maybe some more of those smoke breaks and I'll soon realize the significance.

At least we both have death in common. That's a good starting point.