At a dillards

Mudhoney on a trendy 50 dollar shirt? The world aint right no more.

~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

Free

The disadvantage of going commando is that you have to make sure your
fly isn't open. If old ladies faint and young girls gape, check the ol'
barn door.

~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

Morning?

I'm sitting in an mci building. Its frightengly corporate. My right is
alight with various motivational posters and to my front, the ceo
admonishes everyone to "do the right thing because its the right thing
to do," as if the right thing were ever the wrong thing, and if it were,
then it wouldn't be the right thing anymore. But, I digress. Apparently
such posters are incredible motivational tools. I can see it in the
employees faces as they wearily drag themselves into the building and
flash security badges with disdain.

I'm here just to see T. and drop off some nosh. I don't work, so I might
as well make myself available of her.

The road to perdition, or rather, the roads in phoenix, is scary
business. The uninsured creep along at sub-limit speeds and the blue
collar trucks are weighted down with potential projectiles. Its all I
can do to not sell my car and get another motorcycle. Believe me, I'd
feel safer on two wheels.

Opperation appease T. was successful. Now I drive home to...nothing?

~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

That's my girl

It has been an evening for oldies. I spent some time watching Spencer Tracy's cut jaw masquerade as a dead fighter pilot and now I'm watching Tom get his furry ass kicked by Jerry. I haven't seen a good Tom and Jerry cartoon since I was a kid. I liked them because there weren’t really any spoken words for me to miss. Captioning wasn't around much. Oh, certainly, it would pop up every so often, when the government deigned it necessary, but the good shows weren't captioned and I had to make do with my pretty little colors.

I was awakened for the exterminator yesterday, but he doesn't seem to have actually exterminated anything. I see the dead bodies of numerous carpet beetles, but I am still plagued by little flying things. They bounce into my body with much abandon and I am forced to crush their little black souls. I would bug my mother, but there is a dead black widow spider outside to testify that the exterminator did slaughter with much glee and infectionous laughter.

The TV is showing me something old, again. A train rumbles through the desert and deposits a nice fedora in a small town. Another fedora pops in and starts an argument. The two fedoras stare at each other and then break into song. Of course, they sing "Johnny Fedora and Alice Bluebonnet". Soon afterwards, a stalwart pony-express rider gallops in, grabs the fedoras, and jams them onto his horse's head. The screen fades. Fin.

The work front isn't. I applied to work at several magazines, including an erotica mag. I'm still trying to figure out what I'll tell my grandmother if I get that job. Yeah, hi, Bop. I work for a porno mag. No, they don't take pictures of me. No, I don't take pictures. No, I'm not a fluffer. Wait, how the hell did you know what a fluffer is?

The T. front continues with delicious excitement. Jerry Springer saunters on stage and I'm waiting for the devious exes to make their stunning stage presence. The only difference is Steve won't be there to stop me from stomping some righteous street trash. On the up side, I have a beautiful guitar statue sitting next to my computer monitor. On the down side, I still can't make art, even macaroni art. Don't ask. Don't tell.

On some evenings, I question sanity. On others, I realize I just need to write, even if my writing comes out as scandalous babble.

When the levee breaks

After a monsoon

~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~