29.Oct.2003

You Will Never Get to Heaven With a Smile on Your Face

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i'm staring at something quite bizarre

Diaryland Gold(tm) membership has returned; worthy darlings, quickly abscond to the private meeting grounds when I say, "Fish!"

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My spam is sending me a message: I am presumably in dire need of hydrocodone and Viagra. I suppose if I had a penis constantly under the hydrocodone influence, I would direly need Viagra.

The last evening I was truly calm was the eleventh of August; Liz, the vanilla blonde, took a razorblade to various hallucinogens while I swallowed two Lortab with vodka shots immediately following. I sprawled out on her mattress and gazed supinely out her window toward the Lyra constellation. We were fresh from a day of tedious data-entry and carried Bjork's "Verandi" well into the early-morning hours.

I awoke to a vibrating cell-phone with my brother's stoic timber awaiting me on the other side. Our mother has been in the hospital since the twelfth of August.

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I immersed myself with forty-five minutes of constant, cardiovascular exercise this evening; I am mastering this with sweaty aplomb.

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I'm quite used to cooking dinner for multiple individuals, despite the fact I've only been cooking for myself in the last two months. I cannot calculate appropriately; I'm always convinced my doorbell is going to ring via voracious fingers at three in the morning, replete with ravenous mouths merely waiting to invade my fridge. Every once in a while, I will check my driveway for oil-stains or automobiles.

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I'm generally a quiet sort in work or social situations. I sustain eye-contact with people wordlessly; it only makes madmen nervous.

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Raise your hand if you predicted a passionlessly crepuscular, non-ringing cell-phone on a Tuesday evening.

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Fish.

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time & machine