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i feel like that last bit of sauce you try desperately to get out of
that tall bottle of heinz 57. your tapping o the side, trying to get the
sweet spot, that little area, with the 57 circle but just getting a dribble
drabble of unconscious in and out of the dream array of work and school
and relationships and Radiohead and NIN and the Big Bad Voodoo Daddies.
even now i write without conceptualizing the words either just written
down or if i look back all is present is this drifting ink snake of little
symbols as if i broke my hand yet again like i did in 6th grade and had
to write "with my very best hand writing" some prayer, for i was in religion
school, and had just hit the chief of police's son right in the square
of the cheekbone but i did write that night with a grapefruit hand and
a waterfall of tears but that was almost 7 years ago, my birthday being
on the 19th,
when all the rainbow children on pearl street smoke the all new - old
weed, weed being nothing new to no one, just something to get through
the day. it doesn't matter, i donąt smoke i just drink way to much coffee
and find myself going to sleep and waking up at odd hours of all the day,
the result being unproductive at work, waiting for my hip to heal, so
i nay roll around and be a kid on my skateboard and thatąs all life will
be once again.
i wet to work today almost on time, fetched free tickets to American
Pyscho even though i couldnąt see it, class was at 5:30 movie at 7, seems
ridiculous to skip my one class to see a movie and be social.
i had a meeting with a prospective client, i forget the name but they
are evidently responsible for the Gordita Taco Bell campaign, go figure,
i've really hit the top, they wanted to use the program i made on restless
winter break nights filled with expresso to send out special announcements
about sewing machines- clearly my work has paid off.
so with gelled up green hair, tongue accessory and clashing Ecko clothing
- not clashing with itself, no clashing with e! with who i am, or maybe
just clashing with what people thought i should look like, then again,
this is Boulder, i saw Fishbone and the black population of Colorado doubled,
Fish Bone has a way to make you just smile, the lead singer talks about
his Ja Ja and bad relationships and getting drunk and high- just simple
things all a rock star ever worries about i guess, he always seems relaxed
and open, almost so much that you fall right through the depths of his
soul and don't come back until you realize nervous and strychnine you
are and then you just wonder where they went and you find yourself scratching
your head as you had been doing for an hour alone.
but i felt nervous at the meeting, not because of the client but of myself,
what i was doing, i was an underpaid self taught programmer telling this
woman of my little toy and why we should use it. i just had to listen
to her and i thought about how much i just wanted to draw; how i wanted
to write and i just prisoned myself to write at least once a day in hope
i won't stay just a lame stale software developer hakerish green haired
guy.. or maybe so that i won't, just be that. i get sad and burnt out
when i only do one thing and soon whatever i work on plateaus and nothing
seems to work in life.
i went to class after getting a double shot of expresso latte and some
pumpkin blueberry bran muffin concoction in the hopes i'll stay up enough
to make it through two quizzes. we watched a movie entitle, Emma about
some skanky chick Thais horrible at fixing up relationships and who finally
hooks up with her best friend. the plot was drab and boring as the time
period (early 1800's England) it was written in.
Ewen McGreggor played a polite proper man in the movie, the last three
flicks i saw him in were:
Shallow Grave (housemates steal dead mans body and hack up the body in
the woods and get chased by some secret underground organization) Trainspotting
(heroin attics and a story where i should give a toss about them) and
Star Wars (rat tale saver of the world)
too much.
I went home at 8:00 and went to sleep to be awaken by Dancia and dragged
to get coffee with amy and her new man james, i got hot cider, i've had
enough pish caffeine in my body, any more and i'll surely go to sleep,
my body just giving up on regularity in cycyles of sleep. as amy and james
walked away for the night it was tragically amazing how similar they were
in not too super fantastic ways but it was still humbling and i relaxed,
pondered about the relationship i was in and why its the longest, most
serious one i've ever been in and went to Dhalia's apartment to write
about what was on my mind.
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