OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO oOOOO OOOO. OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" .OOOOOO OOOOOo OOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
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OOOO .OOOO OOOO OOOOOOOOo OOOO OOOO"
OOOO oOOOO OOOO OOOO "OOOO. OOOO OOOOo .OOOO'
OOOO .OOOO" OOOO OOOO OOOOoOOOO "OOOO. oOOOO
OOOO oOOOOOOO..OOOO OOOO "OOOOOOO OOOOoOOOO"
OOOO .OOOO"""OOOOOOOO OOOO OOOOOO "OOOOOOO'
OOOO oOOOO ""OOOO OOOO "OOOO OOOOOO

|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
| |
| There Ain't No Justice |
| |
| #125 |
| |
|---------------------------------------------------------------------------|
- Going Crazy in the Suburbs 13: -
"four million empty faces - four million hollow smiles"
by Hairy

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where did this month go? it's 56 degrees..

it's saturday - i know this for a fact. i woke up this morning and watched
"x-men" on television, and that just doesn't happen on weekdays.

the x-men kind of bother me. in this episode, "courage", they faced some big
meanies called sentinels. fine. when they first described them, they made them
out to be this awesomely horrendous thing, the x-men's biggest fear. fine. the
plot unfolds. now we're down to the last two minutes, and they manage to
destroy an army of these things without breaking a sweat. it just seems kind
of absurd, you know? maybe they can only pack so much drama into thirty
minutes, i don't know..

i was awake for thirty or forty hours yesterday. i'm getting pretty good at
that.

i went to sleep, finally, and teli called. i woke up and talked to him. he
called several hours later, and i woke up again to talk to him.

when i finally woke up this morning, there were three messages on the machine
- one from beth, two from heather. it's funny the way i slept right through
their calls, but i woke up for teli's. i guess i heard their voices while they
talked to my obnoxious machine, and decided they weren't worth waking up for.
hmm.

listening to the smiths.

i went out and bought two tacos (a damned feast for $2!) and got home to find
heather had called again. she's home for the weekend, blah blah blah.

do i care?

well, yes, i guess i do. i have to think of a way to avoid her for the next
two days.

"windows 95" is the biggest excuse for anything. bill gates must be laughing
all the way to the bank.

hmm.

i smell of mexican food, prepared by obnoxious homeboys in baggy uniforms.

it's getting colder, and i have no clothes. maybe i should get a job -
workplaces have heat.

i was thinking of volunteering time to this little computer place, actually.
it wouldn't get me any money, but it would be something to do. besides, it'd
look good on a resum�. why i should care about a resum� that i'll probably
never send anywhere is beyond me, but..

the guy i used to work for is seeing a shrink, i hear. he's depressed all the
time - - poor boy. he told jill that he works all the time to keep himself
busy, because when he isn't busy he gets depressed. how old is this guy?
mid-thirties? shouldn't he realize this by now..? depression and diversion,
there's no escaping it unless you're blinded by stupidity, or you're lying to
yourself. i guess the shrink is going to try and get him to lie to himself,
without putting it so bluntly.

i don't think i'd ever make it with a shrink. ah, well. maybe i am crazy..
does it make sense to you? i can't be that deranged, can i?

bleh.

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"i love you like you love me not.."

intoxicated with craziness again. watching the reality i used to know, i used
to cherish - - watching it dance before my eyes like some kind of tainted
dream, some beauty i'll never know again..

hello, alcohol.
hello, depression.
hello, reality.

her hands work all the feelings out of me, i can never quite figure it out.
tiny touches that drive me over the edge, into some comatose state of
childishness.

her hair in my throat.
her odor.
her everything.

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i saw jill this past night - we went out and saw a horrible movie. i hadn't
slept in 30 hours by the time i saw her, so i was painfully honest and a bit
jittery. we talked about her drug-induced boyfriend's sexual misgivings, other
things.. she kept hinting around that she wanted sex from me.

tirade begins.

for me, "sex" in the classic sense is very boring, very useless. it's just
empty physical contact, yes? there isn't any feeling in it, no emotion. it's
never appealed to me, it's just not my thing. maybe i'm being girly, i don't
know - - i just don't want to impale people unless i care about them. i've
tried to not say the obvious, but i guess i have no choice - i don't "fuck," i
"make love." as silly as this sounds, it's for the most part true. whether
it's soft, gentle touches.. or tied to the headboard and ravaged - it's all
loving in some way or another.

tirade ends.

so, anyway, in my sleepy honesty, i told her this. i told her this and more. i
told her how i felt about her, and that if i had sex with her, i was going to
end up blowing it out of proportion and making it into something it wasn't. i
couldn't have cold, meaningless physical contact with her because i still
cared about her. this isn't to say i didn't like the idea, it's just that i
wasn't going to let myself make some kind of a blunder.

we got back here at midnight and fell asleep, despite how early it was. i got
up in the middle of the night and got undressed, took my eyes out.. went back
to bed. i expected her to leave sometime before i woke up in the morning (as
usual), but she didn't - she was still sound asleep. i started stroking her
hair softly, and. stroking one thing often leads to stroking other things..

we had sex, and i got caught up in it all. it felt like it used to, all wild
abandon and pleasure.

so, for all my posturing and moral thumping, i end up lying to myself - again.
my desires win out over what's right and wrong - again.

when will i learn?

so it's 11 in the morning, and she's been gone an hour or so. i feel like
shit, i'm disgusted with myself. every time i see her i have to make her
promise to come back again, see me just one more time. every hour is borrowed,
stolen.

my life is filled with two women and several little girls. the little girls
are more than willing to devote their empty time to loving me, but i don't
want to even know they exist. the two women are both out of reach and shrouded
in impossibility, and these are, of course, the only people i have any
interest in.

another lovely day.

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it's wednesday, i think.

jill called last night and asked me if i wanted to go somewhere, do something.
sure, why not? i took a shower and she came over. we got in my car and "drove
north". we ended up wandering around the city aimlessly. whatever.

she kept talking about chris, which was fine at first. it bothered me some,
but i was being a fine, upstanding adult about it. then after awhile, she
switches over and starts talking about me - comparisons & contrasts, you
know? this got to me quickly. i sank into some kind of emotional pit and
walked around glaring out of dazed eyes. i drove home, we didn't talk.

she asked me if i was "pissy." i wasn't mad, i was just depressed. i explained
this to her - again. i explained to her - again - how life for me is mostly
neutrality or depression.

we got back here, we both fell asleep. this was an accident, she wanted to
leave. whatever - i woke her up later (when i woke up), and she got all
deranged. it was about 4am, and she kept going on about how she had to call
chris. fine, call chris. she did. it sounded like she had to justify her
actions, explain where she'd been and what she'd done for the past twelve
hours - this, of course, contradicting half of what she'd been telling me in
new york.

whatever, she hung up the phone and sat there. "i thought you had to go," i
said. she mumbled that it didn't matter anymore, and she'd rather stay.

we didn't talk for a few minutes.

"you'd better go," i told her - i didn't care whether it was the proper thing
for her to do or not - i just didn't want her sleeping next to me. she
apparently understood this, because she had a "hurt" kind of sense about her.

so - she left. i probably won't hear from her for another six months. so be
it.

whatever - - whatever, it just gets to me, you know? it just gets to me..

in other news, i got email from some guy who works at this place where i had
my little interview. he's another techno nerd. he said something like, "larry
(the guy i had my interview with) thinks you're weird, but i told him to hire
you." i couldn't figure out why larry would think i was weird - i looked very
calm and normal when i went in there. larry didn't get to see my fingernails.
larry didn't get to see my big boots & makeup. larry didn't get to see the
scar where i had my web pierced (sob!). i wrote back and told him, "if larry
thinks i'm weird now, tell him to hire me. we'll see what he thinks in a
month."

it makes me happy that i'm connected with a weirdo "on the inside", though,
because i haven't heard from the place in a week and a half. i called and
talked to somebody the other day, and all they could tell me was, "we're still
taking interviews." didn't make me too happy..

i don't know if i'm jealous of mr. punk rock chris or not - i'm sick of
thinking about him. i'd be more than happy if the both of them would quickly
dissolve from my life.

no, i guess i'm lying. i want to know her in some way or another, i just can't
deal with the shit that comes up. comparisons should be thought about, not
discussed with all parties concerned. listening to the sisters (big surprise)
and trying to convince myself to get dressed. i have to meet teli in an hour
to finish some scam he was working on - buying top dollar computer shit and
returning it with different things (or nothing) in the box.

i'm not a very strong person, i guess. it feels like i have a little spinner
inside of myself, and every day it points at someone randomly, and that's the
"love of my life" for the day.

whatever - that's bullshit - i can figure out what i want, that's not so very
hard. i just end up spending fruitless time with meaningless people to try and
distract myself, try and take my mind off it.

chet has "special talents"? i'm curious. could he lift weights with it? i've
got no idea what kind of "special talent" one of those things could possess.

i've got to remember to bring an extra $20 with me, i need more alcohol. i
wonder how long i can stay drunk, consecutively..

dying, dying, dying.

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friday night -

i just spoke to you on the phone for a minute. still can't figure out why
you'd think i was mad at you - do i even have a right to be? i'm not a real
staple person in your life anyway, i'm just pieces of paper, just careless
words..

depression is this: getting mostly dressed (makeup & all) and planning on
going out for the first time in a long time, and then glancing down at a
recent pass and realizing that they've swapped the days around. yes, that's
right - if you go out tonight, you're going to be entertained by a combination
of "alternative dance" and "new wave classics".

so i'm forced into sitting here, working on this new bottle of smirnoff..
imagining people dancing by to "kiss the carpet"..

i'm sure enlightenment is just a few shots away.

you and mark seem pretty friendly. i hope things work out in some kind of an
acceptable way.

maybe i'll work on my "consecutive intoxication" regimen. i had to go to new
york earlier today with teli to do bank nonsense, so i picked up another
bottle. $12 never made me feel so interesting..

anyway - it doesn't seem hard. you go to sleep drunk, wake up sober. have a
meal. wait an hour. drink. continue to drink. drink until sleep occurs. repeat
this process. i've set a goal of seven days for myself - we'll see how well i
do. maybe i can find myself in a week, or atleast lose some weight.

"waiting for another war
waiting for my valentine"

reading kerouac makes me sick to my stomach. i can't figure out why, there's
just something about him.

i bought henry miller, i remember you suggesting it some time ago. i read a
paragraph or three. it's sitting on the "things i should read to better myself
as a person, but will probably never even get opened" stack now.. i probably
didn't give him a fair shake. i'll try again later.

people have this large, foolish impression that i think all the time. i can't
understand where they get the notion from, it really doesn't fit. most of the
time, i walk around in some kind of dazed funk, some pointless existence where
i nod, nod, nod and nothing more. one of my english teachers took a liking to
me in highschool, and he told me this: most people never wake up. the ones
that do wander around in constant amazement at the absurdity of things. maybe
he was right..?

well, the shots go down easier. i'm building a tolerance, apparently. maybe i
should start smoking..

i've been reduced to watching the mad max trilogy and munching on pizza - -
this is how i fill my time. i forgot to return the damned things, come to
think of it, maybe i'll watch them all again. six hours killed..

i need some companionship. i'm going crazy.

why do most people disgust me? it makes things so difficult.

it's only 10, i should probably wash all my makeup off and head on over to the
adult bookstore. i got this notion last night to pick up one of those
"tri-state swingers" kind of papers and find a way to amuse myself.

i'm using verbs in the wrong tense. i need more alcohol.

whatever - sex is a cheap, useless substitute for love. i've known this, i
continue to know this. it makes no difference - it makes no difference - last
ditch efforts planned in some kind of hazy shady disillusionment, in some kind
of beaten, broken state of mind.

perhaps i should stop listening to the sisters. perhaps i should get out of
this house.

but where to go? and what to do? why am i so out of place? so disjointed,
broken?

i think about you too often - i don't even know you. what am i doing? you're
just words, just dried out marks on brittle paper. i know things about you, so
many things by now - - but i don't know you. i probably never will, i don't
know why. it seems impossible and foolish - i know myself.

fuck me, what am i doing? watching insects buzzing around the lights..

so i never told you about my mother & her sex life:

mom divorced daddy dearest some years ago, i will imagine i was 8 or 9. we
moved into a trailerpark nearby, and lived there fairly comfortably for a year
or more. i became a gung-ho army fuckup, i wore fatigues and crewcuts. mom
saved money for the grueling trek north, she had family here - a mother,
brothers, sisters. i set the trailer on fire. we flew here. we lived with my
uncle - jim - for six months or so. his tomboy wife ousted us, and we moved in
with a roofer named irv. mom rode irv's seedless organ atop the waterbed
upstairs - i slept in the basement. irv turned out to be an abusive son of a
bitch, we both lived in the basement. several dollars later, and we're living
in a new town with a housepainter, john. john owns nice cars and a boat, i
sail with him often. john ends up being overly possessive - to the point that
my mother cannot spend time with me for fear of jealousy. several dollars
later, and we're living in a one room shack in some jewish boarding house. mom
works at a donut place, shows off her legs, makes some tips. i skip two months
of school, laying in the single bed for hours. we put the milk on the
windowsill, we can't afford a refrigerator. time passes. mom gets hot, looks
for something to fuck. she meets some 20ish guy where she works, invites him
over. i'm laying in bed, half awake. i hear the guy saying entertaining
things. "this blanket's got a lot of miles on it," he says. they commence. i
hear her moaning beneath him - i try to convince myself she's enjoying this. i
can't figure out how old i am - 11 maybe? who cares. i escape into a
nightmare-laden sleep. time passes. mom meets some guy, i can't remember his
name. he comes over - they fuck often. i sit on the floor plugged into
electronics. i sit outside on the steps playing with stray kittens - kittens
later poisoned - for what seems like hours. two years, was it three? i can't
remember - maybe i choose not to. very traumatizing.

hello - i'm drunk.

"it's not my party
never will be
feeling out of place
unhappy"

the scariest thing is this: all i want to do is kiss your forehead and stroke
your hair.

maybe i should have a bit more to drink, maybe i could say things..
something.. anything..

"this place is death - with walls" a stray cat occasionally wanders in my
opened door - walks in and glances around. cats know things, things that are
tiny, scared, guarded. they figure you out by looking at you, know your
person, know you or hate you. they come to me almost immediately - i don't
know what they see. i'm complacent and harmless, i guess, they know i'm not
going to hurt them.

waaa.

trip through the carpeting and break your foot into pieces, all because of a
moth buzzing up your thigh. this is all the excitement you're going to get -
you ought to enjoy it, young man..

i feel like calling someone useless, some harmless foppish whore, some
ignorant child that seeks me out - - i'm starved for anything, touch or words,
thoughts or feelings.. i'm fooling myself into thinking i could care for them,
even love them - we both know differently. stale time spent in uselessness -
hours, minutes and days put aside into foolishness.

i never learn, do i?

i also never get what i want.

then again, who does?

i can still fill the glass without spilling it - i'm obviously sober. this is,
of course, despite the fact that i've had upwards of nine shots.

why do you bother?

the phone's not busy, but i won't hear from you tonight. who am i fooling,
besides myself?

i should never send this to you - i should never let you see this foolishness,
this emotional bit of myself. maybe i'll mail the fucking thing now, so i
don't back out of it.

maybe. maybe not.

what a fool i am, what a hopeless fool. wishing on stars and gliding along on
pipe dreams - what a fool.

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jill just called.

to the best of my knowledge, i read selected applicable segments of old
letters to her. i ended this romantic ritual by calling her a bitch without
justification. i wonder if she will come here..

i am more intoxicated now than i was before. it's taken several minutes to
write this far. my fingers have a mind of their own, and i should probably let
them have their way..

"ooh, sisters..
it's just a shot away
it's just a shot away.."

11:30.

wishing it would rain mumbling dying verses to myself blank stupidity in the
dark stale air mispronounced absurdities

"some girls wander my mistake" isn't depressing enough. suggestions? anyone..
anyone..!

watching your visioned eyes dancing in my skull now, watching those eyes..
eyes that see things, impossible things i'll never understand, colors and
strokes intertwined in some mating ritual, some duel.. some world absurd to
me, unknown to me, forbidden and untamed.

alcohol sways reality.

"with a gun for a lover
and a shot for the pain"

cigarettes burnt out dead souls whirling around in unknowing insanity

death-gripping hands holding onto youth love sanity anything

it never happens time slips past

"i've bought my tickets," she says so be it so be it

"you won't get what you deserve
you are what you take"

seconds into minutes into hours into days

forgetting to smoke these burning dreams ideas burnt out by the time of
realization pushed to the wall broken

"name your terms of surrender"

i'm reduced to quoting the songs, the sounds around me. fifteen minute seems
like an eternity.

goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye, goodbye.

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it's 1am, tuesday night, i think. you got some kind of psychopathic letter in
the mail today, probably. i went back and reread it to see what i had written
- i don't know if you're going to get scared by it or not. i'll just have to
wait around and see if you call, or what your next letter is like.

sitting here, bored out of my mind. i've been like this since about 7pm. for
awhile i paced around the room getting frustrated, swatting at things with the
horse whip (not the big obnoxious 12' bullwhip thing, the stiffy thing the
jockeys use). that didn't get me anywhere.

it was good to talk to you the other night, i went to sleep with this stupid
fuzzy grin.

anyway, anyway, after swatting at things for awhile, i realized that i don't
meet anyone new. i used to meet people at clubs - that was shoddy as it was -
and i don't even do that anymore. now, i just sit around here and brood. i
don't really go anywhere - there's nowhere to go. what am i going to do about
this?

maybe i should go take a few cheesy classes at the local college or something,
maybe i'll find somebody to talk to. well, more like this: i'll sit around and
brood and hope someone who i deem "acceptable" comes up to talk to me.

of course, i can do this without taking cheesy classes. i'll just go sit
around and read, or something. i have no money for classes, and no interest
besides.

i don't know - it's a kind of half-baked idea. i mean, i'd want to go there to
find people.. but at the same time, i'd hate to be there because of people..

yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's yet another example of justin's paradoxical
personality. yes, yes, just one more glimpse into how justin's mind constantly
wages war on itself. fascinating, wouldn't you say?

you'd think i'd get used to being lonely. hmm.

i wonder where jill is. i guess i scared her off with my drunken stupor on the
telephone the other night.

and the spinner spins..

well, whatever. i always feel somehow used when she comes around, anyway. i
can't really put my finger on it, it just feels like she comes by or calls or
whatever when it strikes her fancy. ooooh, i get it - she must be on the rag.
- there's no need to come by.

tick, tick, tick.

i went out earlier to get a money order, and i passed this photo booth thing.
you know, you put in $2 and sit on the little chair while it takes your
picture. so - i put in my $2 out of boredom, and now i've got four tiny
replicas of myself sitting on the desk, staring up at me. they make me feel
amazingly childish and ignorant, just sitting there. i stumble back over the
past few sentences, i look at what i've written.. i feel so damned old, you
know?.. and then i look down and see my face laying there on the desk, and i
just feel so stupid. i feel half ashamed of the way i look, so young, so.. i
don't know.. pure? inexperienced? my thoughts and feelings don't seem
represented by this body, this face.

maybe i'm just making myself out as something i'm not, we both know i'm a
little boy.

in any event: i apparently look better in pictures if i'm looking off to one
side, or have my head cocked. my face is lopsided, and you don't really notice
so much when my head's crooked. maybe i'll walk around like that all the time,
with my head tipped over to one side and angled down, and my eyes slitted..
tick, tick, tick.

i'm starving. i'm going to taco bell. be right back.

---

i'm back.

i drove up to taco bell and sat there at the menu board for a minute or two. i
started to doubt. they're supposed to be open until 2am, and it was only
1:45ish - to be sure. then this black guy came out with a box of trash, saw
me, and started grinning. "we're closed, man!" he yells over to me - you can
see the joy radiating out of him - he's closing early - "heh heh heh" he's
thinking.. i drive off.

well, the options were coming back here and having sleep for dinner, or the
TWENTY-FOUR HOUR SUPERMARKET. (we've got ALL those modern comforts down here!
we don't have to scrounge up food at 7-11, unlike some people..)

there were eighty weird people in the supermarket stocking shelves, of course.
they looked at me like i was a lunatic. i found a six-pack of 7up, a loaf of
bread, and some lunch meat. after much questing, i found a big package of
pepperoni. i gathered up my goods and headed for the checkout. i passed my
reflection in the frozen foods isle, and i started cackling at myself. i
certainly did look like a lunatic - tall thin guy, wearing knee-high boots and
a funny hat, a blazer that's so oversized the shoulders were down around my
elbows, maniacal look on my face, and wandering around with this loaf of
wonder bread and a six-pack of 7up..

i never realized salami and pepperoni were so closely related in regards to
meat evolution. i guess you really do learn something every day.

so, it's 2:12, i'm still starving even though i've eaten large quantities of
lunch meat, and i'm still bored out of my mind.

i should've looked for cherry 7up while i was there. hmm.

bleeeeh. i feel sick.

whenever i used to feel sick to my stomach for no apparent reason, my mother
would always ask me about the last time i "moved my bowels". i wonder what
"regular" is for that kind of thing. i always hear about fiber, fiber, fiber
and regularity, but i've got no idea.

i know, i'll have more wonder bread. ugh.

it's almost november. my free ride is coming to a close. i really have to find
a job.

how about you? when's the last time you moved your bowels?

here's the #1 reason why you don't want to come here: i'm poor. it always
makes me a little weird when people come here - i get embarrassed and all that
typical shit. i know i don't have to impress anyone, and it's not exactly my
fault that i live in a glorified shack, but.. you know how it is?.. this isn't
to say i don't want to see you, i guess i'm just trying to explain myself.

i'm sick of the pope, pope, pope. i'm sick of all his blind faith devotees.
i'm just sick, sick, sick.

i'm listening to "13 classic james bond themes" because i can't find my "can"
tape. time for bed, i guess.

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"tomorrow will be canceled due to lack of interest."

it's 830 at night - i'm still in my hazy disillusionment.

alison called. i don't know if you remember her. it doesn't matter, really.
she's just another face i've been avoiding. i think i'm going to infuse myself
with vodka tonight and call her - i just want to know what she wants from me.

the ants swooped down earlier and cleared away some spilled 7up. i love them.

i need to call brittany and see if she knows anyone with a room in the city. i
keep listening to this song, "lights" by the sisters. the one phrase keeps
getting stuck in my head, "the lights say 'move', say 'never look back'." i
may as well be drunk, miserable and useless in new york - i'm going to have to
move eventually, anyway. at least it'd be easier to pop down to the corner
store for vodka.

"are you ok?" my mother asks, "you look so bored.."

--

it's several hours later - almost midnight. i'm drunk again, listening to nick
cave. i'm trying to convince myself to call that girl, alison. it isn't
working. i'm amazingly more inclined to call you, but it's late.. you're
probably asleep.. and i don't want to frighten you, besides.

"in my heart, it will never be spring.."

nick cave is a strange boy, but i need more ice.

i'm devoid of feeling. i can't stand this. my only impulse is.. well - it's
shit, that's what it is, shit pure & unrefined, shit completely - i just want
so sleep in someone's arms, someone honest.. someone true. why is it so hard
to find people like this..?

fuck you, mr. cave. "here comes the rain again.."

and the spinner spins..

--

it's even later, 130am. i ended up calling alison out of complete and utter
desperation a few minutes ago, but someone other than her answered the phone.
a mother, i think. i hung up on it.

it's been a bit over a week since i've talked to jill, so i called her, too. i
told her machine about how i had apparently offended the gods. "i guess i'm
not going to talk to you for a long time, so have a nice trip," i told it.

i tried to go out for a walk, but i didn't make it anywhere. as soon as i got
to the road, i could swear i heard my phone ringing. i walked back to the
house in my drunken stupor, and reaffirmed to myself the difference between a
telephone ringer and a cricket. i walked back out to the road, stood there
looking up at the moon. i was this little bit of flesh, stuck to the road by
gravity - this little piece of nothingness held still and upright by cosmic
forces. i stood there for a minute, and started to hear things, people. voices
saying, "boy.. come here, boy." i walked back to the house in paranoia, locked
the door.

i'm sitting here, staring at the crumbs of a sandwich.. drinking another
vodka-7, trying to decide what to listen to..

the cure, "disintegration". it's all decided.

drinking gives me these huge, pulsing veins.

"whenever you have a problem, refer to 'aliens'. it's always easier to take
off, and nuke the entire thing from orbit."

i've got to shave again.. legs, arms, genitals.. everything's getting wild.

"it's easier for me to get closer to heaven than ever feel whole again.."

i'm 3/4 done with the last drink, and someone has just mailed me with the
password to an archive with a heap of copyrighted software that i'd otherwise
spend hundreds of dollars obtaining. fun fun fun.

sing, robert, sing.

let me put it this way: i'd love to envision you and i in some kind of
relationship, twisting away as some kind of lovers - - but this is
foolishness, this is impossibility - - this is an idle dream cut short by time
and distance, by realism and preservation of friendship.

let this put your mind at ease - i'd love to join the ranks of the "i'm in
love with michel" fanclub, really, i'd love to.. but i know better. besides,
you apparently have too many worshippers already - i'd hate to lower myself
into being one of them - your friendship seems a higher place.

robert, robert, robert - sing.

here we are again - 2am.

robert knew he would leave you - babies and everything - he's screaming over,
and over, and over.. i'm wandering around taking off clothing, trying to find
something to put my contact lenses in..

so, i'm naked.. penis resting casually against my thighs, robert moaning "just
one more night, i'll be everything you need"..

where's that lens case?

yay - i can no longer see the screen. goodnight, michel, goodnight.

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