me and drew by tamu.

pet.

a woman just pet my moustache at work.

objectivist of my attention.

i just saw a man downtown wearing a t-shirt that says "who is john galt?" on it.

i wonder if he's taking a break from the gulch.

today.

blonde: boy, that's quite the John Waters look you have happening there.

me: yeah, it is. i love him.

blonde: yeah, he's a really nice man. i just met him last month. he is close friends with a pal of mine. he is so funny and charming.

me: really? wow. i'd love to meet him.

blonde: yeah, you would.

it doesn't belong in there.

there was a hunter green box at the store, labelled 'clients'. it made me want to be enterprising. but i didn't buy it.

i did buy a bike with no green on it.

also, i just went to a gigantic underwear dance party in an alley in chinatown.

hands on buzzers.

so i got an answering machine. and used the aforementioned greeting.

i go on a trip soon. greyhounding. bring a blankey. soon it's manta ray the monterey and gelato and swimming in lake(s).

my insta-perv look is going over well. parents have been pulling their children away from me, and all the right people have been giving me compliments. the people who understand.

just like when my favorite lesbian told me: "life is all about characters, not styles"

sometimes, at night, i wonder just how much weight my self-proclaimed 'storage unit' above my ceiling tiles will withstand before crashing down onto me. and the fluorescent light tubes will fall into my eye sockets, and scads of cockroach husks and cobwebs will funnel down them into my brain.

buy me a bottle of sherry.

clot.

and then i told her, "i'm the type of person who picks up a piece of licorice off the floor with his foot and eats it."

but what does that triple-salted metaphor amount to? i don't know. even if i did know, i'd forget it before i got the chance to scrawl or type it.

also, i think i've decided to start blogging more. this is nice.

back to my forgetfulness: i should buy a little book to write things in. however, my little book of telephone numbers gets misplaced so often that i don't know if i could manage having two little books.

i was toying with the idea of getting an answering machine as well. the kind i will be able to hear my voice instructing the caller to leave a message, while i am curled in bed (alternately, on the couch) watching josef von sternberg movies and slathering myself in cake batter.

"it's not that i don't want to talk to you, it's just that the chocolate i'm bathing in is hard to pick out of the mouthpiece of my telephone with a paper clip. leave a message at the beep."