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Showing posts from June, 2005

Tumbling After

Jill thought she should maybe write the journal. It was fast becoming her final decision.
Her therapist, Johnson, said it would help.
Jill knew Johnson really meant do something, anything. Don't give up. Life is good!
Jill knew she had never liked writing, but she thought about Johnson's words and she had rationalized down to: when was the last time she had wrote anything besides a grocery list, anyway?
Jill knew she liked to talk and that is why Jill was a telemarketer.
Higher paid than most.
Her therapist was praised often, by others, who seemed sane.
Jill would follow his advice.

Jill thought to stop at the Wal-Mart on her way home. She needed dog kibble. She needed shampoo and a plant.
And she needed a notebook, too, she reminded herself, when she walked through the doors of Wal-Mart.
But Jill soon forgot, and then remembered, while she was in the checkout line. When she saw the bright orange notebooks. For ninety-seven cents.
So, Jill bought one, and a black pen, too…

Bettin' On A Darker Shade of Red

February 14th


I just got home from visiting my grandmother in the hospital. I brought her some flowers. Some pink ones. I think they are carnations. She is always planting flowers. All over her bedroom. And in anything. Margarine containers. Pill bottles. She always buys me things on Valentines Day. Not just a card or some chocolate. I get that stuff, but I also get a new outfit (that is always cool) and things like walkmans and shit, too. It's kinda like it is my birthday. She usually kisses me like a hundred times. I can't stand it, to be honest, when she is kissing on me. She is always buying me shit, and I…never buy her anything. So, I went to cut a few lawns with Bobby on the weekend and bought her the flowers. Then I just sat there with her. She did not wake-up, but she is not going to wake-up, anyway. I remember the first time up there, at the hospital to see her, like three weeks a go. This nurse says to me, 'Talk to her; she will hear you.&#…

Jack Shit

Jack was a mighty, jolly chap. It is even what he considered himself to be.
Yes, Jack was quite the fellow.
Jack fancied polka-dots on his ties, only for the wearing of this type of tie, fit his definition of what it meant to be a fellow.
Jack believed the world was his stage, that he was the lead actor and that everyone else on earth were co-stars, but only to each other.
Jack lived his life. His way. Jack was jolly, so he was allowed to, by and large, by others.
And others could never figure out why Jack was as jolly as he was, for Jack was as skinny as hunger.
In his shiny black suits, to outfit his polka-dot ties.

One time, Jack walked into a house and it had pale blue walls in the kitchen. White, painted polka-dots stood up from these walls, too. Jack bought the house and Jack lived in the house, although the kitchen had been the only room he fancied, in the entire house. Jack found the backyard was too big, too.
But Jack was jolly, anyway.
Fred, who lived next-door to Jack, was…ahe…

Have You Heard?

I started a new Everyday, just over a month a go.
I was able to ensure what I always have ensured before. That most Everyday is another day that I get to open my eyes and my ears get to hear my Alarm Clock Music. Taking place at a definite 7:30 a.m.
Most Everyday.
This should make me smile.
Except for-there is This Bird.
This Bird that makes noise. Louder than all the other birds.
At 7:30 a.m.
I do not know This Bird.
I have never seen This Bird.
And I do not want to, either.
I am already guilty of throwing a cup of coffee out of my bedroom window, last week. And I can blame it on This Bird, if I want to.
I fear I would become Al Bundy, if I ever laid eyes upon This Bird.

My new Everyday can be a lot of fun.
But it is not as...stimulating as my last Everyday.
And The Voice agrees.
Just admit it, The Voice will say to me. You are getting lazy.
When The Voice says this to me, I get mad.
I tell The Voice to Bite Me.

Because my new Everyday has a more...relaxed atmosphere than my last Everyday, I …

Punks-In June

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
She did not think Tommy noticed her in the school parking lot. But he knew she was there. She was always there. It was where they used to go together.
Tommy did not know what to do, after reading Minnie's letter.
So, Tommy put the red envelope into his back pocket and then he just walked away.
Tommy raised his hand only five minutes after his math class had begun and asked if he could be excused to the washroom. He did not have to go.
When Tommy arrived in the blue-stalled bathroom, he sat on one of the toliets and Tommy read Minnie's letter again.
Then, he crumpled her letter into a ball. Tommy had felt his fist clench tightly, felt his hands weild all his mighty, Tommy power upon paper. Which somehow seemed wrong, so Tommy loosened his grip. He smoothed out the paper, on his knee; with his hand.
And Tommy read the letter again, before going back to algebra.

Tommy saw Minnie a lot during the rest of the da…

Say Hello To My Little Friend

A few weeks a go, my son and I were on our way towards home, a short trip to the variety for milk. Terri poked her head outside of her front door.
"You want a cat?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
"Well, how about a kitten?"
"O.K." I replied back that time and watched a smile spread across my son's face.
"You better pick the cutest one," I threatened him, as we walked up Terri's steps.
And so the parade began.
One unfortunate kitten had lost his paw, after birth. A neglectful mother bothered not with umbilical cords, and his own had twisted around his foot, and now the stump thumped on the floor, when he walked. Thus he was named, 'Thumper'.
An ugly cat with a ugly brown circle of fur above her lip was fondly called 'Madonna"; Terri laughed, bent, as she sputtered the name.
The other four were called Cat. Or sometimes, Kitty.
I had not even looked over the other four, when my son held out a small ball of grey fur.