Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in pawl's LiveJournal:

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Monday, November 10th, 2008
2:08 pm	12 and a half, real quick. baaad whiskey He had drank the bad whiskey, the shit that his friend had stored in a jar wrapped in brown paper down in the ground. He stumbled down the loose dirt hill to the stream and found it dry. There were trees all around like bristling hair. He sat down. He could see a dotted line in the dirt at the inside edge of the dry creek bed, wavering and swirling where the water should be. Everything was wavering then. He got up and walked down to it, couldn’t hear any of the sounds he was making. He laid back and closed his eyes, found himself supported. He floated on the line, found that it was the skin of the water with nothing underneath. When he opened his eyes, he found his friend stepping through him, running up the hill on the other side, further into the woods. He couldn’t hear a sound he was making, closed his eyes again. When they opened a second time, he was much further into the woods. He found his father staring at him from a far tree, offering him cigarettes. Father had said some kind of word that had made him jump up, stop floating. He ran to father and tried to take a cigarette from him, but father just laughed. Father told him that he had fucked up big time, still smiling. That he really shouldn’t be here, that he had messed up. Father said something again that made him turn. He couldn’t hold onto the word, but he hated how he had to look when he heard it, how it filtered out of him like a pine cone sprayed with water. Nothing he could hold onto. He ran from his father. When he looked back, father was lighting another cigarette, was chucking acorns at him. They all missed. He kept on floating down till he found a cave, a big thing with rounded edges like the earth had coughed, dislodged something right here. He crawled in and felt it’s sides draw him like water. It pulled his skin up and out and up until he could feel every contour of the inside of that cave. Until he covered it with his own skin. He tried to walk back out, but came out in the shape of the thing. A cast of it. He was all hunched and absolutely full of nothing. A big space held by a big concave skin. He walked around on tiny legs, stumbled and fell back into the cave, fit it perfectly. He liked it there. Let his legs dangle and stayed there, all cave. He saw his friend walk by later, but when he tried to talk to him, it scared him off. The friend came back later looking normal. It might have been days. There was makeup and writing and surgery all in the cave now. The friend screamed something into the cave in a lilting voice, as if asking a question, or at the very least, expecting a response. It rumbled his insides, made him collapse almost, just about wadded around the word so that he could hold onto it. It was the same word that his father had used. The friend called again. The word echoed so violently that he did fall, fell around the word and knew it. It was a name. It was his name and he knew who he was now. Jamie. The friend smiled when he saw him. Smiled until he looked down and saw that Jamie still had a hole in him. That his legs had rounded and pudged and that his makeup was still on. The friend asked him of those were his sister’s clothes. Jamie nodded, still grogged from the bad whiskey. He tried to remember his name again, but couldn’t. He sat down there in the cave and wouldn’t come out. He fiddled with the bottom of the dress, didn’t remember ever putting it on. The friend looked like he wasn’t sure if it was Jamie anymore. Jamie just twisted around, poked his head down under his dress and sniffed, came back up looking satisfied, like he had seen his own mother’s face again. The friend began to back up, wandered away slowly enough so as not to draw attention. Jamie forgot his name again and stayed in the cave. Wasn’t sure if he was waiting for another man to come by. He could still feel the Cave’s shape between his legs. He was happy with it there. Somehow knew that he would never see his friend again. He knew it had been wrong of his friend to shout his old name into him, to make him wad around it, but he accepted it. He knew he was makeup now, he was cave between legs. He shouted out into the forest, shouted for the animals to come and see him. That he was a new thing now, and he was willing to forget his name. (1 Clockwork Rodent | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Monday, November 3rd, 2008
12:25 am	099185 an old ass ruff cut Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Maybe a longer one. Bzzzz. Okay. Now, people. People walking, people listening to their feet, people peeking at eachother from windows, touching each other through computers. Okay. Not lots of people. Not a group of individuals, but all of them. One thing. Not a big complicated thing, a big simple thing. One you can hold in your mind. Not a big teeming tongue of the universe tasting itself, no. Just a big body wrapped around the world pissing and screaming. Doesn't know what it wants. That’s better. That’s more like it. Smiles all around. Everyone’s talking at once. Quiet now. All extending down city streets, down every drain, around every corner. That’s a big word, every. Bzz. Bzz bzzz. One alley in one city. A sound like a kazoo. A little man down at the end, smoking something, smoking something that makes music like a children’s music box as he drags and drags from it. A window up above. An older woman in her curlers yelling by the window. She’s throwing her husband out. He’s screaming and leaving. She’s staring at the phone. At the goddamned dresser he kept in the living room because he always slept on the couch. She hated it, but put all of his clothes in it anyway. He had told her that he was coming back for it. She told him good. Looked at the phone. Looked at the rings from all the coffee mugs he had left there, that she peeled off the table. Like she had had to peel him up off the couch. He was almost part of it. Looked sickly when he had to leave, yellow above his yellow beard. She saw the chicken bones he had shoved in the butter there. It was a wonder he got up and went to work. She wiped her hands on her pants. He seemed to regret leaving his couch more than he regretted leaving her. She sits there the next day, staring at the phone. She’s still getting his money. She’s still got a lot of her own saved up. She goes to the kitchen and makes two eggs, one piece of toast. She gets her phone book and calls up an old friend from the department store. The toast is delicious, but only with the runny egg on it. The friend tells her that everything is on, that she’s set up with a man, next Tuesday, three days away. His name is Richard. She knows he’s too young for her and loves it. She doesn’t know how the friend got her the date. She gets her dress out of the mothballs. In the kitchen, the coffee is ready. She puts it on a coaster this time. Spits on one of the gooey rings still left on the table and wipes it off with the bottom of her dress. She waited through Jeopardy. Dipped a Kroger muffin in the mug through dateline. Then she put the curlers back in and went to sleep. The bed didn’t feel any different, didn’t make her think back to Tom. She had slept in this bed alone since their second year of marriage. Her friends had told her she couldn’t do it. Said that it’s just how marriage goes, that you just have to keep going. What was she going to do at this age anyway? Get a man? Sure, she said. Sure I will. She waited until things were sure, talked with Debra at work. Found a young one. One who wouldn’t sleep on the damned couch. She woke in the middle of the night that night with her night gown worked up over her belly button like it always was. She heard a Bzz bzz bzz coming in through the window, out the alley. She got up, pulled her gown back below her knees, and looked down into the alley beside her apartment. There was a little midget bum down there playing something. Or smoking something. She couldn’t tell. Probably didn’t matter anyway, she mused to herself. Anyone who plays something smokes something too. She sipped water from the cup on her bedside table and went back to sleep. Next morning she went to work. Came back. Debra didn’t work that day, nothing to talk about. She made a ham sandwich and another cup of coffee. Pushed the dresser up against the wall next to the door. She had stuffed everything of Tom’s back into it already. Almost everything he had fit in. Most everything was cloth. He had more undershirts than he had shirts. She put his ashtray on top of it, got it off the balcony. She never trusted that balcony. Secretly hoped it would fall someday so that she wouldn’t have to throw Tom’s sorry ass out. That wasn’t the whole reason she made him smoke out there, but it was a nice bonus. At least the throwing him out had been easier than expected. She had been wise to put her name on the lease. She wondered where Tom had gone. Why he hadn’t called crying yet. She sat back on the couch and patted her brown curls, crossed her hands on her belly, looked at the top of them. Danity hands, she had always thought. Fat women always think they have nice hands, Tom had said once. Always think their tits are the best too. Just cause they get huge while all the rest goes to shit. Too bad they’re always like pancakes when they get em outta their bras. She frowned. He hadn’t even drank and he had said that shit. Good thing she had held out after that. If he didn’t like her body, well, he couldn’t stick his thing in it. She held her head high now, turned on the TV. Some young stud would be getting her soon. She wiggled her hips to push her butt back on the couch, felt like a woman doing it. She put her feet up. They were to meet at Vincinso’s the next day. Italian, she thought, a big Italian place with big plates of spaghetti for us to share. Just like the lady and the tramp. She loved that movie. Didn’t know why, it was the one children’s movie that had stuck with her. Maybe it was the animals in it, she thought. I’ve always been kind to animals. Maybe I’m just happy that they can find love too. The word love brought up Tom. She thought of his face. It wasn’t unattractive, she could still admit, but it was hard and used looking. Like a catcher’s mitt. Maybe not. Maybe she had just looked at it too long so that it had stopped making sense, like a word repeated. He had been forceful, always moved her out of the way and told her what she was doing wrong. But, at the same time, he always wanted to be left alone. Looked annoyed that he had to get up and do anything, especially if it was for her. They hadn’t made love for a good year or more because he refused to do it on the bed, and she refused to do it on the couch. She fell asleep with the TV on that night, woke up to the sound of the Bzz bzz bzz like wind over wax paper. That instrument again. She was glad it had woken her, really, didn’t want to sleep the night through on the couch. She looked down to the alley again, this time through the living room window. She almost knocked over her only plant doing so. She saw a little whisper of a face down there, someone else with the musician. There was still a terrible amount of smoke, but she could tell that whoever owned the face, was dancing. Dancing with their arms out as if giving themselves up. They bent at the waist and wiggled towards the midget. He was little more than a smile, silvery moon eyes, crazy eyes, she thought. She tried to make out the rest of his body, but it blended in with the darkness at the back of the alley, like a black crayon jammed into a piece of shit. She didn’t know where to draw the line between the two. She could tell that he was wearing a white tank top, a ‘wife beater’ they called them nowadays, casually. She went to bed. “So you like Disney?” She asked, swirling spaghetti on her fork. She hadn’t even needed to look at the menu. She was dead set on spaghetti and meatballs, knew they would have it. What Italian place wouldn’t? She tried to get the big plate to share, but Richard wouldn’t have it. He was quiet. She would have to draw him out. “Um, sure.” He said, covering his mouth. A bit of sauce dripped out, speckled and white. “As much as the next guy, I suppose. You know, the same way everyone likes the Beatles nowadays. There’s just no way around it.” He was definitely too young for her. Looked freshly thirty. He was nice though. She crossed her legs, the top her thigh pressing against the bottom of the table. She extended her hand. “I’m Grace, by the way.” He took his out of his jacket pocket, reached and shook hers over his alfredo, looked a little down and past their hands as if she might drip something into his food. “Oh yes, Debra told me. Sorry I didn’t introduce myself either. I just thought, you know, we both got the names and the setup and-“ “Richard.” She smiled. “It’s a good name” “Sure is,” he gurgled. He had found time to grab another bite of his alfredo. His suitjacket was too nice, she thought. Too nice for this place. He had looked apprehensive about it when he first came in. Had put his hand in the pocket casually and thrust his head down. He was still doing it. Had put that hand back in his pocket. “So this is awful… I don’t know, lady and the tramp?” “Yes,” she almost squealed, lighting up, “isn’t it? Gawd, that’s just what I was thinking before I left. I can’t believe you thought it too it’s just so… gawd.” “Well, you know,” he motioned with his for as he talked. It was clean. “Like I said. You’ve got to love Disney, it’s like-” “The Beatles,” she finished. “Just like the Beatles. Oh, I love the Beatles too.” He was quiet. Finished in fifteen minutes. She tried to get him to come home with him. Didn’t want to play the normal dating game, had been married to long to do so. She just wanted a man who would actually sleep in her bed with her. She didn’t care how the sex was, as long as he had fun and then stayed there next to her. Oh god, she thought, I’m getting ahead of myself. He had only agreed to walk her home. He hadn’t spoken since they had gotten out of the restaurant. He pointed at signs sometimes, other businesses and things, told her where was good for drycleaning, that he knew Jimmy over at the smoke shop. He was a good guy. She could see his undershirt now through his white button up. The tie had slipped to the side. When they got to her apartment, she turned to face him. They were right in front of the double door to the lobby. She was glad to live in a place with a lobby. It reminded her of the courting room her father had built onto the front of the house for her when she was a girl. She couldn’t wait to walk right through the lobby and go up the elevator, ignore the whole thing. She had hated it when her dad peeked through the door, made sure that there were four feet on the ground when he did. She wanted to stomp all over that place. Stomp on her father for embarrassing her so many times. She wanted to trample the lobby with this man and keep on going. His eyes avoided hers. She took him as shy, not at all like his build. Or, maybe just not like the suit he was wearing. She went in for a kiss. Bzz bzzzz hu- bzzzz it started from the alley. She looked back, saw the smoke and the instrument again. Two moon eyes. It kept on, rhythmic but atonal. Bzzz bzz bzz, like a kazoo, really. She could see the cherry of a cigarette. Richard started to move a little bit, to dance. She looked at him, confused. He was more so. “What the heck?” he looked at his feet. “You don’t want him!” a voice called from the alley. “You don’t! I got something you want! I can make it! Ha HAH!” his voice was like a train car going over a bump in the rails, slamming back down. Big metal on big metal. “Will you please take me inside? I’m scared.” She gave him her best doe eyes. He looked terrified, shifting his weight from right to left. Bzz bzz, it started back up. “Yeah, sure.” He said. “I- just need to…” he pushed her forward, forceful. She grabbed his arm and put it around her when they got in, couldn’t get it all the way around. When they got into the carpeted elevator, he asked “Can you hear that guy from your apartment?” “No,” she said, “Barely maybe.” She would just keep him away from the windows. His quiet little eyes were darting all around. She could see the spots around his jaw where he hadn’t shaved all the way. Richard only sat in the apartment long enough to catch his breath. He looked like he hadn’t planned on coming up here. She tried to inch closer to him on the couch. The table was clean. He got up quickly, walked over to the dresser. “This is pretty nice,” he said, running his hand over it. “good place for it. I always get erm… frustrated when I realize I’ve forgotten a shirt or something and always have to go back to the bedroom for it. I need to get a dresser like this, keep it by the door. Dress on your way out, you know?” She didn’t respond, clenched her teeth and nodded. He walked around the apartment a bit more and then left. She stole a kiss before he got out, slipped in some tongue to let him know she would go further if he wanted. He just raised his eyebrows at her, turned. Tease, she thought, he’s a tease. Trying to hold out for another date. We’re all young men like this? She heard the kazoo music start up again about five minutes after he left. She looked out the window but couldn’t see a thing through all the fog. When she woke the next day, she was on the couch again TV on, still in her nice dress. It would be all wrinkled now. She looked to the window and was startled. She thought she saw a big face there for a second, something shining but translucent. She jumped. She set the toaster and filled the coffee pot with water, grounds. She opened the fridge and remembered that she had been woken last light. The bzzing was so loud that she had to turn the TV up. She thought that Richard had called her too, but when she picked up the phone, there was just a weird dial tone. All sped up sounding. It was too soon after he left though, he hadn't even had a chance to get home. It must have been a dream. She tapped her nails on the counter. Why had he left so quick? It still looked like a man lived here. That was the problem with this place. She would have to make it look like a single lady lived here. Put some doiley’s and wal-mart flower pictures around. That would do it. Checkout lane was dull that day. She had changed into a sweater and some jeans that swallowed up her belly, buttoned right over her belly button. She was always afraid that she was going to get reprimanded when she had to work register. She always rang things up too fast, never looked at the screen. When she rang them fast like that, they didn’t go through some times. You were supposed to look at the screen and make sure that they did. She never remembered. Back in the plastic break room, she found Debra. Debra was a skinny thing, wearing a sweater too. It was much tighter, stretched across her little boobs. They poked up like dents in paper. “So how’d it go?” she asked, absentmindedly. She told her it went well, gave her most of the details. Debra looked like she always did, like she couldn’t wait to get back to work. Such a hard worker she was. Debra gave her his number in case she wanted to call before he did. She said wouldn’t dream of it, but she took it anyway. Four days later, he still hadn't called her. She had put two doily’s down on tables by then, taken down a lot of the posters around the couch. She called the number Debra had given her on the sixth day, but he didn’t pick up. She began to think about Tom again. She picked up the phone from the table and called his mom, the only other place he could have been. His mom picked up, told me in her wavering little doe voice that no, he hadn’t been by. Tom's mom asked why she had called. She didn’t want to tell her what it was that she had done right then, so she didn’t. Just told her that he wasn’t home yet, that she was wondering where he was, and hung up. She went to the kitchen and got another Kroger muffin, lemon. Richard showed up the next day without calling. He was there standing outside of her door when she got back from work, still wearing the same suit and tie he had worn a week ago. She decided not to say anything about it, just greeted him instead. “Hello!” She said, a little too happy. She walked towards him as fast as she could from the elevator, twisting her hips forward and raising her arms, as if running. He smiled big, looked a little sick. He hugged her back, weakly. When I opened the door, he frowned. “Why all the doily’s?” He asked. There were only two. She stopped and leaned in the doorway “and the posters? Where did they go?” She looked a little offended. “Oh you know, cleaning up. I just thought they didn’t fit quite with the apartment. I didn’t take down much though.” “I kind of liked them.” He sat down on the couch without bothering to move the bottom of his blazer. It folded under him and wrinkled a little bit. He scratched at the cushion like a cat in a litter box. “I didn’t think you had even noticed what was in the apartment when you were over here. You were pretty shook up by that bum.” “Yeah, yeah.” He said, strangely dismissive. She brought two cups of coffee over to the table. “I don’t know what was going on with that.” He laughed. She had never heard him laugh before. She sat down next to him, sipped her coffee, put her feet up on the table. She thought about turning the TV on, but didn’t. They talked about work. Talked about family. He sounded like he didn’t go out a whole lot, was maybe more boring than her, despite his age. The conversation actually went okay. She leaned over and kissed him. He seemed startled, stared at the now clean table angrily. She asked what was wrong. He said that it had been a long time since someone had kissed him. She looked at him, confused. He turned on the TV after a second, let her kiss him some more. He kept it on the channel it was already on, was usually on, 41. Watched dateline. They made love on the couch during a rerun of mash. He lasted about fifteen minutes, enough time for her to have that thing she thought was an orgasm. He didn’t finish, just said he was done after a while, rolled off of her. She didn’t remember going to sleep, but she woke up alone in the bed. She had to swirl her hair up with the big circular brush because she hadn’t put her curlers in. She started the coffee, got the eggs out of the fridge. She thought she would make a grand little breakfast before she went off to work. She couldn’t wait to tell Debra. She walked a little bit out of the kitchen and stared at him on the couch for a while. Richard, no shirt. He didn’t look as young as when she had first seen him, but god damn he was attractive. His skin was like calf leather, but his stubble looked hard and manly. He should grow a beard, she thought. She walked back into the kitchen and heated up the skillet, made four fried eggs and bacon. He woke up when the bacon went on, but didn’t get up off the couch. He just sat up and put his feet up on the table, turned the TV on. She brought him a mug of coffee, lay their two plates down in front of them when it was all done. She tried to talk to him, but he just said yes to everything and stared at the TV. She wasn’t sure if he was ashamed because of what happened last night, or if he was just being shy again. “You don’t have to be shy anymore,” she said, adventurously. “I’ve seen you. We know eachother pretty well now.” He just gave her a wry smile, reached over and pulled his blazer on over him, no shirt on. She thought it would get dirty like that, but didn’t say anything. When she left, she told him that he could stay there until she got back to work if he wanted. He just nodded. She looked forward to seeing him, but wondered why he wasn’t going to work. Maybe he was off today. She didn’t feel that she could ask. She saw Debra in the back before she went up the the checkout line, she was at her locker, putting her necklaces away. She always had nice ones, little stars, circles, fairies. “So Richard came over last night.” She said, an uncontrollable half smile stuck on her face. Debra turned to her quickly, “Really? Is that where he’s been?” “Been? No, he was just there last night. I couldn’t even get a hold of him before that.” “So he just showed up?” She closed her locker. “Yep. Just showed up.” “Hmm. Well tell him to call. His friends have been asking me about him. I didn’t realize he was you know, all caught up with something else.” Debra winked, walked off before she had a chance to protest. She hated the way her hair looked when she hadn’t curled it properly, but went out there anyway. Made sure to scan everything real slow so that the computer would pick it all up. They had been checking her receipts, making sure that the stock sold matched up with what had left the store. She protested that stolen stuff would come back on her, but they just said that she could reconcile that with the cop on duty. She didn’t follow. She got a rip in the bottom of my dress at about lunchtime. Right when she realized that she hadn’t brought anything with her to eat. She got something out of the snack machine and crunched on it in the break room, on one of the white plastic lawn chairs in there. Richard was still on the couch when she got home. she was happy to see him, wrapped her arms around him from behind the couch and kissed him. The top of the couch left a little dent in her belly, crinkled her floral shirt. She was a little nervous, didn’t know if a man should really stay over this long in the first week of the relationship. He didn’t seem to think about it. She was happy. He stayed on the couch like Tom had, stayed there for the next two weeks, but she didn’t think it was a bad thing. He wasn’t at all like him. He was much too nice, talked with her still about Disney sometimes. Never ate her muffins. She knew that she was going to have to get the divorce papers filed soon. That she would have to find some way to contact Tom. She didn’t want to call his mom again, thought she probably already knew, would scream at her, maybe wouldn’t even tell Tom that she had called. Tom could still be staying in hotels though. He had never really spent his money from work, probably had enough to go on for a while. Three weeks later, she still hadn’t called. She was walking back home from work when she heard the Bzz noise again, heard it soft and low, not at all rhythmic, just humming from the back of the alley. She had begun to get annoyed with Richard. She opened her apartment door and found him on the couch still, wearing the same suit. They had made love once since the first time, but it was on the couch again. It had scratched up her back. She tried to get on top to fix it, but it didn’t work. She didn’t want to think about it. She walked up behind Richard and kissed him on the top of his head. He reached up and scratched his scalp. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a muffin, tried to go sit next to him on the couch. She moved his blazer out of the way. When he turned to look at her, she jumped back, dropped her muffin. His face was all old like a catcher’s mit, he had a beard now. She hadn’t even noticed it growing, but it must have, he hadn’t brought a razor over. She looked down to her muffin, all shattered into chunks, and looked back up. She still didn’t like what she saw. He started complaining, said that she was always dropping stuff. Richard stood up, grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her over, gentle but firm. He grabbed the muffin bits and smooshed them into a ball, put them in one of the leftover coffee mugs on the table. She shuddered. “I need to take a walk,” she said. Left. The bzz was still going on in the alley, light meandering. She knew it was stupid, but she turned and walked down the alley. It was all smoky back there, that little cherry still glowing in the back. The music picked up, became some kind of dance tune. She walked as carefully as she could, watching the ground for glass and rocks. When she got back there, she began to feel a little pull on her chest. She could see the midget now, in dirty coveralls with a strange instrument in his mouth. It looked like a pipe, yes, but it had a crank on one side like an organ grinder, three valves from a trumpet, and a piece of metal and waxpaper for the mouthpiece. Something was lit and glowing on the lefthand side. It was louder than she could have imagined. The pull on her chest grew, probably from the force of the sound, as the cherry brightened, like someone hitting a cigarette. She didn’t know what to ask the midget. Told him to shut up, that he kept her up at nights. He stopped abruptly and smiled. She caught her breath, felt a little sheepish now in the silence. The smoke began to clear. “I ain’t what’s keeping you up at night.” He said, dryly. “Yeah, well you almost ruined a perfectly good date.” She said, crossing her arms. “Popping out of the alley, scaring people.” “Not my fault maim, not my fault. Man was just a pussy. Startled easy, you know-“ “Hey now!” her face all red “I don’t want to hear that kind of language, and especially not-“ He began to play again, loud and suddenly. She could feel her organs moving in the rhythm to the music, could feel them better than she ever had, as if they were about to burst through her skin and out into the alley. She screamed. He took his mouth away from the instrument again, the cherry died down. “Now you don’t disrespect me, and I won’t disrespect you.” He said, the same crazy lilt to his voice she had heard the first time he yelled to her. She agreed, sarcastically. The smoke began to move, twirled up like snakes to heaven. She shifted her weight. “So how you like yer new man?” He asked, smiling still. A dirty little smile, like the soft clammy place between one's thighs. “Like him fine. Like I said, I’m just glad he stuck around. He could’ve run off on me easily after that scare.” He didn’t look offended this time. “But he came right on back. I was sure he would, you know.” “Oh he wouldnt’ve, not if it wasn’t for me.” He put the instrument on the ground, straightened his coveralls. Her head felt funny. “Nope nope nope. I gave him he needed- er, what you needed. You know I got it.” She began to turn away, thought that he was coming onto her. The smoke was all clear now. She could see that there were two dumpsters in the alley. What she guessed her trash went to when she dumped it down the chute in the hallway. She saw some of her husbands clothes under one of them. Didn’t remember throwing them out, thought that they were still in the dresser. She walked over, bent down with some trouble and poked through them. She saw some yellow hair tucked into the pocket of the shirt. She pulled it out by the bottom hem and found shook the hair out of the pocket. It was her husband's beard. She looked to the dwarf. He didn't move, looked like he was caught between leaning and standing. She asked if he had stolen her husband's clothes. He just stayed, like a frame in a movie. She reached under the green metal and tried to pull the pair of jeans out from under the dumpster's black wheel. She looked down to see why it wouldn't come and saw her husband’s skin behind them. Jumped back, looked at the dwarf. “Oh hey now, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do it.” His smile had dropped. Fallen right off his face. “Look now, I just dance organs. Ya see?” he stepped to the side. There was a little red pile behind him. “Now I don’t do nothing without purpose. I knew what you wanted. Saw you walkin’ out here every day. Knew you didn’t know what you wanted, and knew I did. So I danced some organs.” He stopped picked up his instrument again. “Danced em right outta your husband, and into that Richard guy. Wired him up just the same. If you really want Richard, here’s him right here,” he motioned towards the red, “But I don’t think he’s at all good anymore. Never was really. You’re happy now, you know? You’re happy.” She looked up to her window and saw Richard standing there. Richard all stuffed up. Like a stuffed animal jammed into another stuffed animal. Did he even know? She wanted to run, but her insides were all cold and gummed. “I know what you want.” The dwarf said, a little too loud. “I know. You just needed a new face wrapped up round the same ol shit." She stepped back and fell. Tom had sneaked back in. Richard had jammed himself under the couch when she got back upstairs. Stayed down there like a stain in the apartment eating crumbs and complaining. She stayed over in the kitchen and bathroom, didn't even try to get him out, just smiled and didn’t. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, October 14th, 2008
4:25 pm	78*955512 and one twentyfourth of two eights. My model was still nude when Darla came home. She was eating half a sandwich, sitting on the old parlor couch next to me. I was eating the other half. Some bread crumbs littered her crossed thighs. We were facing the door Darla filled, the easel turned away from us, the half finished painting reflecting in the fogged glass. Darla's shoulders squared when she saw us, puffed up somehow like a scared cat. I could see the corners of her suitjacket come to points at either side of her dry brown hair like spikes, a little too long. She told me that all the models were to be out of the house when she came home. That it was something she never wanted to see. She paused a second and asked me why I had to be so liquid. Why I wasn't solid or trustable. Her shoulders squared harder. Quicksilver, she snapped out with her whip tongue. That's what you are. Slime. Ooze. Dough. She said she couldn't hold onto me. That I was infinitely divisible, that I could always pass right through whatever I did or said. Her eyebrows were up on her forehead. Had been since she walked in. Darla put her fingers in the wet paint of the easel and wiped it off on one of the old shirts I kept nearby. "He likes you because you're like the paint, you know." she said to the model. "A pasty little squiggle. He likes that." The model put the sandwich down on her bare thigh, tried to chew her last dry bite, to get it past the uncomfortable lump in her throat. She couldn't get up to reach for the robe. It would have revealed more of herself to Darla. The model stayed still, silent. Darla looked at her again and puffed up, her body turning again to hard lines and ridges. She turned and snatched the sandwich from the model. "I won't let my food make her body!" She was addressing me now. "My food doesn't go to people like that. Liquid people." I tried to protest, but she cut me off. "This food is for real people, real solid people in the real world. People who have to go work in the office. People who really do something in the world. This isn’t real. You’re both off somewhere else, in some oozing paint, lounging around with brushes, no clothes. Other people have to wear clothes, damnit!" She threw the sandwich cleanly, got it right in the trash bin. It was all squashed and ruined from her anger-pinched fingers. I put mine down. "I can't even be in this room." She said to the wall above us. “There’s clothes and canvas everywhere and it…it feels like the whole thing is moving.” I was as still as I could be. She did look a bit out of place, like a fuzzy pixel floating against a churning crowd. She walked back out the door, and down the stairs. I got up and followed her down with difficulty. The stairs unforgiving geometry always impeded my normal fluttering step. Darla was standing by the toothy railing across the street, the one that stood around the river, to the right of the base of the bridge. Darla was looking out, breaking out into blocks and geometry, getting bigger, becoming more sure. I stood back, jiggled, and tried to understand. “It’s just the suit,” I said, “that makes you all hard like this. Makes you all math.” She didn’t even look down at the water. “I could paint you, you know. It might relax you, might take the edge off.” She looked at me with clenched brow. “So to speak,” I finished. She looked even angrier. She walked a little bit away from me, began thinking, letting it show. She multiplied herself into all the children we could’ve had. Subtracted her figure, strengthened her resolve. I rushed quickly after her. She was already to the bridge, making her way across it with all our possible children trailing behind. I could see the water splashing down below her with each step she took, splashing out in a footprint as if her steps extended all the way down to the water somehow. As If she was a complete denial, in body and mind, all math and straight lines in curved space, extending through everything by sheer will and resolve. Through the whole earth maybe. I caught up. She didn’t turn around at first when she heard me stomp over the metal grating. I had to poke her rectangular shoulder with my finger, grab her with my whole hand and swivel her around. She stood then, with children hiding behind in a straight line, still all math, still all sure. She spat her facts and numbers at me, everything I had done and negated, all the times I had been unfaithful. She ground me down with each exact argument, with all the times I had jiggled outside of what she knew. She stared me down when I didn’t respond, stared me down till I cried and melted into the unsure ooze that I was. I had to cling to the metal grating of the bridge shamefully, wrapping myself around every bar so that I wouldn’t fall into the churning dam-water. The children all fanned out like feathers when she was done, so each of them could see. Could see possible daddy trumped and weak, barely holding on. They stared at the shamed and stinking puddle of me. I could see up to her stomach from down there, saw how her legs sprouted off and around the square of her pubis like a wrecked semi wrapped cleanly around a pole. Impossible cold shot between me, through the openings in the grid. I tried to speak through one of them, but found it difficult. She began to walk away, splashing the water underneath her, her body had turned to blocks now, all shifting as she walked. The children followed like dominos. Desperate, I pulled the grate up with me and clanged after her, hop after hop with my heavy skeleton. “But look!” I cried from all my holes, “I’m math now too! I’m grid! Look! I don’t have to be the unsure artist! I can be like you! I could… I could wear a suit!” She looked below me, looked through me. Saw that I made no waffle splash down in the water when I jumped. That I wasn’t extended math like her. Saw simply that we were still over water. “Now you’re just all between yourself,” she said in her calculator drone. “You aren’t that grid. You aren’t sure or understandable. You aren’t one thing.” She puffed up. “I am what I am. I’m in every block.” She patted her hip-block like a proud and posing diva. “You’re just a bunch of no good flop wrapped around a grate. Pretending. You don’t deserve it. You squiggle like sheet metal at best.” I felt the grid frown, all through me. I gathered myself up in silence when she turned around, flimsy and tottering, picked up the grid and tossed it into the water, left the hole open and dangerous where it had been on the bridge. I wobbled after her, but she ran to a frozen crowd, a block of people all pressed together like a tessellation. She fit right in there, grunted as I tried to speak to her. The rest of the block gave me disapproving looks. The kids stood around confused. The whole block of people began to move finally when I had gotten out of the way, stood in the middle of the street. Darla moved with them, with her diamond ass pressed to convex crotch behind her, legs all moving together. I heard the model run up behind me, didn’t turn to greet her. I felt cloth on my shoulder, could smell my own robe around her. She tried to whisper to me, tried to bring me back across the water with her, but I puffed up and told her she could go home. That I didn’t need any more of this unmapped grey area in my life. Not in people or on canvas. She stood by me anyway, didn’t go. We watched Darla march off and away from the bridge together, watched her age twenty years as she absorbed all of our children, pressed block to block. I thought I could hear the bridge crumbling behind us, but wasn’t sure. Hated not being sure now. Wished I could march off, but felt too weak in the knees, too wet and wobbly. I turned to the model when the whole block of people had turned a corner cleanly, taken the aged Darla with them. I fell to my knees and pressed my head against her lower belly, right at the browned knot of the robe. I forgot about the bridge, didn’t even look at it, just knelt there in the rectangle street, wavering with the model like a small churning crowd against a large pixel. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
9:21 pm	Heat Dead hungry in the shower, I looked down and my gleaming clean penis and was thankful. Thankful that Tony had a shower at all, that he would stay home sick from school for me, just to open the door, to let me in while his mom was at work. He had told me before that he could just act like it was a spend-the-night but no, I wouldn’t let him. She might know my face I said. Even though it was over a month since it had been in the paper. Still. Still. He had talked to me while I showered. While I rubbed his mother’s pink soap on my chest, rinsed it off. I noticed that he still had his bandana on. Saw it through the shower’s blur-curtain. I guessed he didn’t want the whole thing to seem too weird, to take off any articles of clothing while he was in the bathroom with me, leaning against the sink. We went downstairs after and ate out of his well stocked pantry. Stirred some noodles on the stove, threw in the ground beef to kind of cook in the churning water. We ate the shit up together, sat at his kitchen table. He tried to ask me why I had done what I had done. I looked down to a place mat and breathed out like a snorting horse. I asked what he meant. “With the dog and all. It’s true, right?” I noticed how greasy and black his hair was. How his eyes pressed to near his nose, as if berries on a twig. I didn’t answer. “I mean, I understand. If you were cold and all. It was the middle of February. I just don’t know why it was such a big deal. I think you’re right to run.” I turned over my bowl of noodles and walked to the front door. I left and went to the gas station to try and get someone to buy me some booze. It was the first time I’d tried since they had put my picture out. It was the first time I’d been back in town. I thought that it was early enough in the day for me to get away with it. All of my mom’s friends were at work. I felt relieved, standing at the brick wall next to my backpack on the far side of the station where the attendant couldn’t see me. It was the first time I had been this clean while standing outside of a gas station. I had spent three weeks smelling like crotch every morning after a fitful sleep in my overstuffed sleeping bag. I kept trying, but no one would buy for me. Kept telling me that I looked old enough, that if I was too embarrassed to buy this early, that they weren’t going to help me out. Sidewalk. I trekked back over to the other side of town, where no one knew me, and walked on down the street. Shuddered as I saw open fences, metal chairs on porches with no one in them. I heard an argument pouring out of one of them. I saw no one else outside in the neighborhood, so I sneaked up into the tall grass in front of their living room window and peeked in, only eyes visible. The woman inside was screaming in dizzying circles around a man crouched over a desk, writing furiously. She screamed that she had told him of her affair more than three hours ago, and that he still hadn’t said a word to her. He just sat there writing furiously. She wanted to know what he was writing. She smashed a lamp. She wanted to know now. She said she hated the way he always did this, compacted every situation down into words. Hated the way he made it just words, not what it was. I pulled my oversized jacket tighter around me. He kept writing. She started picking up the pieces of the lamp. He stopped, said ‘fine’. No apparent reason. He scribbled something on a new piece of paper and flung it at her. It had little dramatic effect, kind of floated then hurled itself in the wrong direction so that it hit the glass on the front window and settled down over my face. I could see the word written on it. ‘SEX’ in all caps. I ducked down under the browned grass and heard her pick it up. ‘That’s all it was,’ he yelled. ‘that right there, that’s all you had. How can I care about that? How’ I heard her fumbling with the paper. ‘That right there, is most certainly not what I had,’ she said, teeth clenched audibly. I crawled away slowly, unseen. I got to the walk and hoisted my backpack up. The front glass shook behind me with the very force of suddenness. Later, I met a man. * Eyes? Yeah, he had em. Eyes like gerbil's, two dark globes, too small. No, maybe not. Maybe more like a wolf's. Well, at least his face was like a wolf's, covered with a thin fur like moldy velvet. Yeah, just like it. I kind of wish I had petted it now, in retrospect. Kind of. But I know in the moment, it wouldn't have been possible. As close as his face was to mine, as much of his spit was on me, he didn't mean it like that. Didn't want me to touch him, I was sure. He was up on the hill, the one that rose up like a one of those Indian mounds, right where the old dump used to be. Was probably one of those artificial ones, three inches of rolled grass over tons of trash, what would be dirt soon enough. I swear I heard it scrunch as I climbed up the hill, when I could just make out his head. Saw the light disappearing into his dark eyes, again: all black, all pupil like gerbil-wolf. The hill stood against the side of the highway, the train yard right down the hill behind us. Tony had told me that this guy would be here. Said he used to see him all the time when him and his friends came to paint the trains. He was supposed to help me. Tony said this guy’d been living out on the streets for decades, he had to be able to help me. Help me do it as long as I needed to. Binoculars swung from his neck, some prize from a happy meal. He wore a beige baseball cap, molded somehow into a safari style, one button on top, rim all around. I had no clue how he did it. He told me he had found God, after a second. That he was with him, in his pocket. Said that God had given him the sight. Yeah, the sight, a specific thing, not just the gift of eyes. To my surprise, he tapped the binoculars around his neck. Said they helped him look out for the people that would take it from him. God. He reached in his pants pocket and took out a crack pipe. It stunk like burnt hairspray, seemed to eat through his hand as he held it. Said that it was his secret, but he would share it with me if I wanted it. Said that that was the thing they didn't want you to know. I asked what that was. That it lets you see God, he snarled. That's why they don't want you to use it. It takes your brain and leaves God. You can do whatever you want when you’ve got God, he said, but you still gotta look out. He patted his binoculars again. ‘Cause more than anything, they want to take God from you. They want to strap you down and drain Him out of your ear, make you forget what He let you know. I didn't want to laugh. I wondered for a second if it were real. If he could be right. I looked over the highway, at the smatter of little headlights. I asked him about dogs. He looked at me like I was crazy. I tried again. “No really, have you ever had one?” He shook his head. “They’re worthless, really. I mean, they can be fun and all, but when you need to use them, you should be able to.” He licked his hard lips and, still looking at me, slowly picked his binoculars up, put them to his eyes and looked me over with them. “I don’t know whatchu mean, but you ain’t got God.” I tried to remain still, as if it would help him finish his exam quicker. “I got God. I got God for sure,” I steamed out against the cold, patting my chest. “It’s just- I don’t think it’s all that big a deal. I had to-“ “What’s not? God?” “No, the dog! The dog!” His gerbil eyes reappeared, binoculars left dangling. “Hrm, the dog, eh? The Dog?” I nodded. “Yer that boy, aincha?” “That boy?” “Yeah, one they found curled up in that dog over in that woman’s backyard.” His pale mouth was open, face tightening and rumpling skin. “Shit, I heard bout you. ‘said you was walkin all around in that dog, passed out in the snow right under her back porch. Man, might not have been big shit if it wasn’t a show dog. With fucking papers.” I stayed still. Fucking gerbil eyed man living out on the edge, brain half gone, there was fucking snow outside. There was fucking snow. That thing had heat. Had steam all in it, kept it hidden with fucking fur, with papers, with wax skin, letters, teeth, whatever. I just needed that steam. I couldn’t go back home. Not with fucking dad there. God, he had more steam than anyone. Could’ve lived for weeks outside if I had him. But, I thought, I wouldn’t be outside at all if it wasn’t for him. That dog was ignorant, carried around heat and didn’t even know it, didn’t care. Shit, dog’s are there for us, I needed it. Shit. He was staring into my open mouth, I had been about to speak. I closed it, and restarted, uncomfortable. Didn’t know what he saw in there. “She shouldn’t have put it outside in that cold if it was a show dog,” I sat down. “Anyway, a dog is a dog is a dog. I had to fucking get that heat. Dogs don’t matter. It was the only heat I could have. Sorry if it was in a dog. Heats always been hard for me to get. Always on legs or in someone else, never on me.” I stopped myself and looked at him. His binoculars were back up. “and after that shit came out in the papers, wasn’t no way I was going home. No way I could go see Dad after that.” I could smell the trash now. Saw a dented spot where the gerbil man was sitting, all crunched down. “Where’s yer heat now? “ He asked slowly, suspiciously. “Right here in this coat,” I jerked at one side with my good hand. “I still got some in here.” I patted a guilty pocket. “I- I just ain’t got any heat of my own. I gotta take it all, always gotta steal that heat. Can’t help it. I mean, dog’s just a word, right? A word that’s got heat in it. That’s all it is.” The cars tumbled by beside us. He kept his binoculars as his eyes, kept their lenses against me. “You ain’t got God at all,” he started, mouth opening and closing like the flap at the top of a semi truck’s exhaust. “And you got it wrong. That dog wasn’t no word, just like God ain’t just no word. That ain’t it. You scared the living shit out of that woman. It was a show dog, with fucking papers. And man, you were curled up under her porch in it. Shee-it, you ain’t got god at all, at all.” He poked me with something. “But I can tell you ain’t here to take god from me. No no, not you. You may be cold, but you ain’t here to mess with me. You just need somethin.” “Fuck you,” I started. I looked down at his outstretched hand. “Here, you got yer chance,” he rasped, hairy cheeks sucked in. I saw his hand, saw it with the pipe for one second, some kind of sticky modified pen body, then saw it empty, saw the pipe running out of my face like a bridge, lighter hot and raised. And then, then, everything exploded like it never would again. _---------------------------------_----------------------------------------------- (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008
10:07 pm	Gunk I am living proof. I am dust under the nails. I am male hands sprouting from unzipped pants. I am abused dog who pees on the carpet when master comes home. I am cracked voice, flushed face, laughter suppressed. I am touch that cannot be un-touched. I am dinner-conversation-that-pushed-her-all-the-way-back-to-his-bed. I am the rustle in his sheets, un-aged. Fancy tickles from simple men. Tender lips on a chapped face. Bow struck against strings and then held there by female hand, made to move along them, against them, to chord, to draw them out like one draws water from a well. Cat in heat yowl pulled up in jerks by braided rope, rippling in its wooden bucket. Lapped afterwards by hairy tongues, beaded and brought up to swallow. Deep stink fur on a hiding thing, woven belly pressed to floor. Kinky wet carpet that I made myself, un-squelched by boot, left to stale by the window. I look up in loops with ears held back like retracted airplane wings. I have head of least resistance, hair patted flat and wet so that eyes glance off it it. Let out: scream caught by man-hands again, held out from opened pant-crotches, shoved back down throat into pocket behind Adam's apple. Scream felt there for fourteen years, crammed like wet string, crawling like ants. Bowed and drawn out, never removed. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, July 29th, 2008
3:23 am	=-0=-0 (for the jacket of a cd that will never be made now. Missed its chance) When we found eachother at the bottom of the pit, I didn't have that metal in my mouth anymore. I didn't have that strap on my shoulders. I was barest bare, tangled in with you like we always should have been. You were beaming happy, burning me to you like a hot plate. Your skeleton hands were cold though, pressing into me like a doctor's exam. They stayed hard and bony, masking my mouth as the rest of you melted. Until we filled the hole and they floated to the top, freezing it over and skating on the cracker thin ice. They laced up and slid easily, your skeleton hands. Tracing a million circles and carving your name into my back. There was no escaping them then, no way out of that ticky bone tickling. They touched me a million ways, ice on bone, good then bad, laughing and laughing until I just couldn't take them any more, your skeleton hands. I cracked open and rushed up and out, throwing them, your skeleton hands into the remaining puddle, caked over as it was with the frozen slurry they had made, their poor circulation and rich cold almost shattering them. They sunk down into you- the puddle of you, knocked together there like they were tied to each other, mittens stitched at the wrist. Sank like that until they hit pit-side, scratched it all the way down with desperate fingers till they settled at the bottom crossed palm over palm, unsatisied in self. (1 Clockwork Rodent | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Monday, May 5th, 2008
11:25 pm	45697315973464648 Found me mid day, bleeding through the too bright sun. He washed up in the surf, and rose wavering and uncertain. Ripped right through me, he did. Said he didn't know how. just stood there wavering and not knowing how. I tried my best to help him. I rolled him around over the wet sand when he bade me to, but nothing would stick. He tried to do the same for me, but his hands just ripped right through, eyes drooping as he tried, swooshing and swooshing his impossible arms. The rest of his body began to droop too, to let the sun shine through too hard. He pawed at me then, not trying to roll me anymore, but trying to hold on. My clothes just breezed away, rippled by his heat. I asked him again if he knew how he had gotten here. He looked startled and peeked all around as if someone was after him. I heard someone crying, echoing out from a cave down the beach somehow. I could still barley see the man in front of me when I heard it, he was just a slight shape in the sand, as if he was drawn out with its darker grains. I scratched my beard and sitting up, drank water from a bottle I had found. I asked if he knew how I could help him. He stopped then and rose up, wavering harder. He told me to pull him back together. To sand him up, to fill up his holes. I told him I had already tried, but he shook his head. Shook it and spoke through the wind, said "No. Not like you did before." I cocked my head and crouched down, scooping up dry grains and casting them up and at him. They just slipped right through like they had before, through his ghostly holes, where he was letting the sun through. The grains seemed to stop him up for a second though, they blocked the sun for a second before tumbling out of him and back onto the toasted beach. He shook his head again and I saw his eyes droop lower. He looked frustrated as he tried to grab for my hand. I got the idea, held my hand up as if he had grabbed it. Moved it with his hand as he led me off towards the surf. We stopped at a place where the water hit the beach and washed away, a place I had liked to sit in. I saw that the sand was darker there. He nodded at me and pointed, ruffling his hair with his left hand, seeming almost surprised that he could touch himself. I picked up some handfuls and looked at him. He nodded again and bowed his shoulders "Yes," I heard again on the wind. The screaming started back up down the beach. He lay down and let me pack the sand's wet meat all around him, lying still and embarrassed like a child being dressed. I Packed it on him like a dumpling, like I knew what I was doing. He seemed to like it more than he let on. I could see his smile through the upper most layer raising the sand, refusing to be hidden. He told me he felt sticky then. Sticky good. He felt more certain. No more Light (out) bleeding out and through like honey. No more of that man down the beach trying to fill him, he said. He didn't like the way that man did it. He rolled over to look back over to the screaming cave. It looked like a giant mouth against the burning sky, chapped rock lips braced against the harsh ocean wind. I gave him him a second to look before I took my last two quarters and filled his sandy eye holes with them like he told me to. He left me then, left me with a sick a feeling and a freezing left foot on account of the shoe he had taken with him. I'd lost the shoe when I had to lace him up in the back with it's string. The ocean had grabbed it with its large water-scoop hands when it had rolled up to take him, had swept up my water bottle too. He called back to me after I sent him off, laced up into the surf like a message in a bottle. He looked happy, curving into a large smile as he floated out "Don't tell him where I went!" He called back in a breath of sand as he bobbed and bobbed. I found his real body three and a half weeks later. Found it off in that cave. He was trapped under a rock, right next to his sea salted notebook. The cops wouldn't believe me for the longest time, said I smelled like coconuts and alcohol, didn't trust my no-shirt and one shoe. I had gone to elementary school with one of them. He didn't remember me. Not through my beard and glasses. The body under the rock wasn't sanded up. It wasn't the same one I had set out into the surf, but it was. Just much more solid. Solid and certain, without the sand. It looked normal, like me, just empty and dead. It must have been his desperation that I had seen, running out when it could get free enough. If only it could have remembered why it was out there, hadn't just run on fear. One of the cops remembered him. asked me how I found him. I didn't tell him, but it was okay. He wasn't listening. I pressed my face to the body then and saw how the water leaked through. It leaked out in all the places his desperation had fled, where his flesh was ripped and curled. If he had been a checker board, the man who had found me on that beach three weeks before would have been the white boxes while this one here under the rock was the black. I knew I had sent him off good when I saw his black-checkered half there under the rock, arm gnawed and ripped at. He had persevered like a lizard dropping it's tail, letting his desperate spirit free to float right down that ocean, balancing on the edge of every wave, while his doomed half lay alone, with no one to accompany it, but no one inside to care. He had some secretes in his notebook, but the cop had gathered up the pulp too quickly for me to see it. I was sure the information could be strained out. I just couldn't believe his white checkered half had wriggled out of the rest of him, had floated in its forgetful sheath down that current, packing in sand to fill his missing black checkers. He had slipped right through to the ferryman like that, I was sure; letting him take his quarters so that he could float on his own. Was staring up scared right now, grainy red eyes trained on Persephone from those empty sandholes. I wondered then if that one, the white checkers, had a notebook, if. Had the rest of the one that I had seen. I couldn't tell if it was all there from the pulp. If he brought his half down there, it could be scorched dry, I thought, to help him remember, to haunt him as he roamed free in the wonderful darkness that filled his holes and never ever exposed them. (1 Clockwork Rodent | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Thursday, March 27th, 2008
11:50 am	Special Edition: Shirt Gotta have my trophy wobblin on them brass legs prettied up so i can point and sing yeah that one. believe it. fuckin birthday cake can divide herself frosting ooze ooh. sparkle baby. winking flashes. Sweet baked tits. Tell him hello. Hello. Let him know. Let him know. I left my nicotine stained semen in the stomach of a travellin girl. Said she was headed out west as I pulled up my pants and put one hand on the mirror. Good, I had told her. Me too. Thats where the gold is. She laughed and grabbed a paper towel to clean some up off of the floor. No need I said. Is this your bathroom? This your gas station? She shook her head. Didn't think so. I grabbed her by the chin and moved down to her face. Missed a spot on yrself though. I wiped it with my hankerchief. Like spaghetti sauce off my daughter. She was so messy. I almost smiled until I realized my dick was still out. Nope. couldn’t smile about my daughter with that out. Not like I ever did anyway. You sure you wanna use that? What? My hankerchief? Yeah. Whatta you think they're for? Fasionable affect? I dunno. Oil or something. Girl, She looked pissed at that. Where i come from, don't make no difference. She pulled her shirt back down. God damn her tits hadn't even been off. Out. I mean out. Godamnit that coulda been anyone. I needed to see that body. Wish I still cared in the afterglow. Wish I still cared. Aw whatever. Get that shirt off girl. Fuck off. And quit calling me girl. Thats all you is right now. You know it too. Don't pull that hippie shit on me. I was a hippie. 'fore you was even born. Now take that shirt off. You already had yours. You don't need these. She crossed her arms. Fine. Ain't you gonna thank me for the ride then? She looked shocked. Like a deer I'd seen in front of my truck a while back. But you’ve only barely drove me. I just told you where I was going, shit. This was just a little present. Just to let you know I will. You know, at the end. Yeah, ok. I know. I turned around and opened the door, let it swing wide so anyone could see her there in the bathroom on those profane girl knees. Only one old man did. He looked more offended than anything as the door fell back slowly. He grabbed his vienna sausages and walked quickly towards the register. I jumped ahead of him and beat him to the counter. Stared at him hard in the mirror behind the attendant so he wouldn't say a word. Bought a pack of gum and cigarettes just to be there. Paid in ones. Girl came out of the bathroom right when I was swinging the double doors apart and into the outside. If I had the option I always used both. Made me feel official. I took my hat off and looked at the sun through the mesh at the back. I thought about using it as a cover, to look back to make sure girl was getting out without any hastle. I decided against it. Didn't need to get tied in if she was gettin in some shit for being down in it on the men's room floor. I got in my truck and slammed the heavy iron door. Clunk. I pressed the clutch in and started it up, just in case. If she wasn’t out in five, I'd be gone. Back over to Tennessee. I didn't need this Oklahoma bullshit anyway. Didn’t know what I was doing there. I hadn't even gotten this far out before. I wondered if Ronda was angry yet. If she even expected me back. Girl was back in two with a big four pack of saltines. Thought you didn't have any money? What difference does it make to you? None I guess. I woulda preferred a blowjob anyway. Then leave it alone. I thought about a comeback but I didn't need it. I backed out and hit the highway ramp hard in second. It was right there out of the parking lot. But why crackers? I asked, merging lanes. They got other shit. Other tastier shit. There wasn't anything else I could eat in there. What do you mean? I dropped it into fifth and let out, leaning back a bit. I'm vegan. Oh. Yeah my brother used to be vegan. Some strange shit you know, but I can respect it. She shot me a sidelong glance. I almost felt ashamed. Don't give me no shit now girl, just cause I ain't all up on your vegan shit. Your lucky I ain't just treating you like a freak. She crossed her legs and chewed slowly and thoughtfully. Like I guessed vegans would. I could see them going down, the crackers. All the way down. They were balling up in her little girl stomach acid, my sperm squirming at them wildly while they floated, trying to impregnate something before they burned up. I hoped it would work somehow. Thought she almost deserved it for not thinkin about them in there. She had let them go in the wrong way. I wondered if she thought about what was in her stomach while she was eating them. Did she even count sperm as being in there? Was it some separate sexual act, one she didn't even think of bein side by side with the cracker balls? I started grinding my teeth a little bit. I wanted to see what was in her stomach. I could see it all so clearly in my head but... I wanted to see it all erupt out. To see it all layed out on the dashboard, undeniable. I slowed and sped for a while, switched fourth to fifth and jerked the clutch hard. Cops, I told her. I felt like that undeniable sperm on the dash with her acid and crackers would put her in her place somehow. I wanted her to know what she did, make sure. That it wasn't all hidden in those guts. Not crossed over and out like her cunt with her legs. God and she had kept that stomach and that body all fertile vegetable too. All the vegan shit. Like tilling the earth, composting. All vegetable. Thats all she was I thought. Compost. I was glad to have helped. Like the unwanted man in the woman's lib group, sprayin jizz. If only her girlfriends could've known. You know what? What? she folded up her crackers and put them back in the four pack box. I know you don't like those saltines. You don't have to pretend. I didn't say I liked em, she swallowed, I just gotta eat em until I find something better. It’s just all they had. I nodded. And could you stop doing that? What? Slowing and speeding up. Its making me sick. I don't see any fucking cops. Yeah. I did it one more time like I couldn't decide on a continuous slow or fast. I ended up fast. I just loved to jerk her like that. To move her with my hands still. With technology. Mmm... I knew that semen slosh. That pretty little sex sloth. I could hear her little vegan belly now. All full o seed, all wrong .Piled up all wrong. I wondered if they knew. The semens. I adjusted the rear view mirror so that it was looking at her. Hoped she wouldn't look at it too. See my eyes. I hadn't really looked at her face much till then. Just the top of her head, to the short black fuzz. She had bangs though. Her eyes were a little too wide set, I remembered that. But her nose was a little long too. It balanced it out somehow. She was actually as attractive as a girl like her could get, I thought. She needed some glasses to balance it out. She might have had them before she left. Just ain’t a good thing to carry around when yr hitching. I could tell from that close rear view mirror shot that she had some makeup on too. Wondered if her girlfriends knew. If she said it was just to pick up the dumb truckers. That they all went for it. I knew who it was for though. Who all this whoring and hitching was for. Slosh. I turned the mirror back slowly and drank the last of my pepsi. 'Family size!' it said. What the fuck family shares pepsi? I tried to imagine a family gathered around their oak table, passing this thing around. Bull. I threw it into her floorboard. She didn't move, just put her elbow on the window sill and stared out at passing cars. Stared em down hard like a kid on vacation trying to get in trouble. I didn't know if she knew how much people hated to be looked at when they were driving. They're allowed to look out the little windshield screen and prop up their feet, but shit just can't look back. Invasion of privacy. It ain't a fuckin TV. I said. No matter what side yr on. It aint a TV. I know that. What do you think I am? I'm just sayin. Goes for the people you're pissing of just the same as you. I just don't want no one gettin angry and cutting me off. Making you puke. She stared. I've been doing a good job not jerkin around, huh? Yeah, she said, staring off again, this time at a light blue mid-size. I could almost see the hate line burned in the space between then them. A big sizzlin ash snake unfurling down the highway at the spot their eyes met. The blue car pulled in front of us. I saw a kid in the back seat, looking back over his shoulder at us. Aww, don't fuck with no kids now. They're the best though, she laughed. They get all hostile but don't follow through. Might tell they're parents. I ain't about to explain no little girl in my truck. Whatever. I didn't have to look. I saw the car slow down a bit and heard the sizzle start back up, keeping on down the highway. I slowed down to let them pass us on the right and snickered. Aw, they got away. Yeah, I said. Yeah. I got back up to cruising speed and thought about dinner. Slosh. Lit up a cigarette. Slosh. She lit up one of her american spirits. I hated the smell of it. Like the health bread Rhoda’s mom always tries to feel our little girl. She's eight. She knows what she wants and it ain't that shit. We drove on like that through the mountains, commenting on passing road signs. I thought about girl's makeup, forgot about dinner. We both awkwardly avoided the strip club signs for some reason. Not making fun, not doing anything. I paused and looked over. She was leaned up against the window, staring out at the blasted mountains. She looked warm. I thought back to the cold gas station floor. She felt so pure then, a porcelain angel. It was cause she kept her clothes on, I thought. She had it down. I thought about it as we passed the next sign. I started to feel some anger well up. Like she was above me. That she could avoid involvement in that sloppy blowjob by having them clothes between us. Like a mom playing with some kid to humor him. Ah! why did she always have to bring me to family. It was fucking. Not fucking for family, but fucking around, fucking up, fuckin out on the road with a dick in her mouth and her mind on her organic fucking granola. I had it so close to her brain, but separated. I could hold it there as long as I wanted, but, I couldn’t brain her. Couldn’t get to her like that. Un in fucking Volved. I gripped the steering wheel hard and watched the white lines on the road whizz pass like little laser beams. It helped if I pretended I was in a video game. Little white whisps. mmm... I grabbed for my potato chips, but she was already on them. Looking for these? She shook them. Since when are you a mind reader? Dunno. I've just been watching you. Well then, since when you been watchin me? Since I saw you turn that mirror around. I gripped the wheel hard. I was caught. I know you want this face. You like it? Condenscend. She wants me to like the makeup. To be the fucking guy who drives the fucking truck. God, that would just make her feel okay. Feel right about it. Yeah its alright. You'd be prettier without the makeup. Hmm... She said, flipping down her passenger mirror and looking at it. Ooh, a southern gentlemen eh? Yeah, I guess you're right. It gets me rides tho. You know? Yeah I guess. Gets you rides with the wrong kinds of dudes. Oh yeah? Are you trying to say that you're the right kind? I'm sayin that I coulda been. I coulda been if you were the right kind of girl. I could just tell that you weren't exactly that. mmhmm... She pursed her lips and rolled them over each other, spreading the lipstick around. What makes you think that. Well fuck she did just blow me in a gas station. Could I say that? Dunno. You tell me. Nothing, She said Nothing. How long have these chips been in here anyway? What the hell does it matter? They’re chips. Not like they go bad. Whatta you want with them anyway? They’re bacon n’ cheddar. Is it just like a toy to you? Like a game? She looked at me, confused. I mean how do you even hold er think about… bein vegan and all… I don’t know , I said the last three words loud and clear. She was staring at me now, smiling. Glad to make me confused. I grabbed the chips. We stopped off and slept in my truck that night. She had a blanket and stayed on her side. I stayed on mine, wishing my seat would recline. We were off in some nice little neighborhood, tucked back through some fields and behind a walmart. I could still see the highway off over the roofs of some of the houses. I liked that. I felt like I always had to stop off near it to really sleep, to keep track of it. Girl had rolled herself up in her blanket like a cigarette. I could see her face bustling out of one side like serrated tobacco. I almost wanted to touch it, to scoot nearer to it and have something close to me, but I knew that I could never sleep like that. I would stay up all night keeping track of her tosses and turns. My wife had hated me for it. Never sleeping in the bed with her. It didn't matter though, I had the highway running along my side. Just beyond the pitched roofs with their black-eye windows. Some of them were beginning to light up like a fire line through the field. Children reading books with flashlights, parents trying find their glasses, family dogs nosing up switches out of curiosity. Who knew. I had to cover my window up with my blanket to get any sleep. Had to cover the whole front windshield too, like I always did. It was good to hear the highway through it. Good to know we were so hidden soft walled in the street, in someone’s front yard. It didn't take me long. I woke up the next morning and took the blanket down slowly, piling most of it on Girl. She looked like she needed it. I hated how the sun hit me first thing in the morning, all grogged up and prickly from sleep. I just wanted to get on out there. I couldn’t bear to see the neighborhood wake up too. To see me in here, the bad man with the dirty truck. God, I wasn’t though. I only was when they saw me, when I saw them. When they came out all clean and comfortable just to contrast, getting their morning papers, walking back in to settle down in their little grooves on the couch. Guh. No comparison. I hated to do it. I drove then, slowly at first, but letting it get back up to speed as I got back on the waiting highway. She didn't wake. Just lolled, head rolling with the bumps in the street. I was sure that she was too hot under there once the sun came out, but there was nothing I could do about it. Shit, I kind of liked that I had her sweating over there. It kind of made sense for some reason. We went on for a couple more hours until I needed gas. I didn't want to stop. I knew that the slowing would wake her. Would put her back in herself. I liked her better as a body. A thing to put, to keep, to have breathing and salivating all over that silly wrapping. I wished all hitchers could be like that. Soft and dead. Well, not dead I guess, but not there. A functioning body without them in it, breathing and all. I went as long as I could, about thirty minutes, before finally coasting off a U-turn off-ramp, trying to let the car slow naturally so that she would stay as she was. The perfect passanger. I got into the station and pulled up to the pump without waking her. I could see a sign on the highway up above us that said Texas was only another 14 miles. I hadn’t ever been this far out. I went in to paid for my gas then and walked out, only waking her when I put the pump in the truck and started filling. I had let the nozzle hit the rim of the tank’s mouth too hard like I’d done many times before. It was all dented, all toothless. She got out when I was about halfway done, peeling all of the covers off of her. She looked surprised. Where are we? Still in Oklahoma, I said. Right about to the border. Hmm. she closed the door as hard as she could. It didn't close all the way. Too tired. Her muscles weren't working yet, they had her moving like her wide eyes had suggested she would: Sloth. All matted with vegetable and smiling. If only she would smile. Why didn't you wake me up? Did I need to? I mean, I wanted to get started early. No need for you to be awake you know? I'm doin the driving. Yeah. It's just weird. Me laying back and being taken, I don't know. Just wake me up and let me know next time, ok? What makes you think there'll be a next time? She paused. I don't know. Shit, I don't even know why you’re driving. Or where you’re going. She shook her head to throw the sleep off. I think about here’s fine for me, I said, putting the nozzle back into its perfect little nozzle slot on the pump. Then I'll be heading back maybe. Theres another highway about 8 miles up, right before Texas. It’ll take me somewhere. Somewhere not Texas. She tried to look unaffected. She opened the door and closed it again, harder this time. So if you wanna keep heading west, you might need to start looking. Yeah, she said. Yeah, I know. It's cool. She laughed a bit as she tried to open the door to get her bag out of the floorboard, laughing at how hard it was to open now. At how she never should have closed it. She got it finally, lifting it out and asking me if I wanted my payment, as if she was going to pull some money out of her bag and shove it at me. I was glad she didn’t. Yeah I want it. I said. Okay. You know where to find me, she said yawning, as if it was nothing. Such a tough girl I thought. She put the backpack up over one shoulder and walked into the station to get the key to the bathroom. It was around back like all good bathrooms are. I lifted the hood of my car and acted like I was checking my oil to keep my hands busy, so that I wouldn't look like I was with her, or wanted to be. I slammed it hard like I didn’t care if I drew any attention, and got in. I pulled my truck around back then so that the cashier wouldn't see it sitting there for too long. He had one of those side windows by the register so that they could look out onto the pumps. I hated those. I found a good spot for it right outside the bathroom door by the dumpster. It was kind of behind it, so that no one would notice. It fit right in anyway. I walked across the blacktop and stepped up onto the rough grey back curb. The men's room door was propped open with a hemp shoe. I kicked it in and grabbed for the handle, wondering why these things always happened in the men's room. I guessed it was another separation. That this was men's business. She had no direct part in it. I felt my penis stiffen as my anger rose. I stepped in and found her sitting on the edge of the sink, legs kicking. She was blocking out most of the light from the silly vanity bulbs above the mirror, only two of which were working. Her bangs cast a funny shadow over her forehead like the teeth of a comb. Well hello, she said. Campy. Like a line from a bad porno she thought she was in. I hoped she knew she wasn't. She just needed this to be cheesy, I guessed, so that it was okay. She jumped down and put too much energy into her hips as she approached me. I stopped and closed the door, not bothering to lock it. Hello yourself I said to the top of her head. She pushed herself against me, trying to lean me on the door so that she could move down and let her dirty slothfingers work over my zipper. I let her do it, shoulders pressed against the old scratched graffiti, head forced forward. I felt like a kickstand. The only reason I didn’t try to re-position myself is because well I knew I wouldn’t be staying like that for long. She got my cock out eventually, and, fumbling around with it, found it limp. She looked up at me for a second and tried tugging on it again. I smiled. I thought we could do it differently this time, girl. Differently how? she said against my pantleg. This is the deal. This is what you get. No, I don't know about that. This isn't... I don't know. Engaging enough. Not engaging? Is this not engaging? Her eyebrows arched. She jerked my cock around a little bit, an example. Am I not right here? She looked up. No, its not, Girl. I picked her up from under the armpits and kissed her on the mouth. Woah, woah, she said, trying to back away. This isn’t the deal. I reached for her waist and ripped, no, peeled her pants down, leg by leg exposing her twin banana thighs, her lightly shaved crotch. I wondered how she maintained it on the road. Wondered how long she'd been out and if her friends knew. She was horrified, her face frozen in mock astonishment. I pulled the pants off one foor and twisted it around, silencing her for good. It was too fast for her to do anything about. She had just stopped. Clammed up. Look, I know your fucking game. You leave your clothes on and your above me. You aren't the fucking girl fucking the trucker. Your just toying with the idea, Girl I am not a fucking idea to toy with. Mommy and Daddy aren't gonna bail you out of this one when it gets serious. They ain’t gonna come through that fucking door. I pointed back hard, as if I was cracking a whip. She stayed silent. I pressed myself against one thigh's bareness and let my thing grow. She just looked at me, still breathing, but not there anymore. The perfect passanger. I ripped my pants and shirt off so that she would have to deal with me directly. I was done fucking around. Throwing her up onto the sink, I let the tip of my thing touch her fuzzy cunt. I began playing with it. This engaging enough for you? Am I engaging? I shook her around. You're right here, Girl. I pressed my fingers in and remembered her diet. I looked down and inspected it. I was glad it was fed on fruit and grain for some reason, that this cunt hadn't formed from dead animals. Not dead animal cunt. Made it cleaner, better. I leaned her back then and covered her mouth, and, sliding in easily, I began tilling the fields. I sloshed her. I shook her stomach with my simple tool, my old technology, sloshed her over and over right over that sink, hoping it was the same slosh. Not some new morning-bile trash. Hoped she had a slow metabolism. Least I was getting in her right this time. I fucked her like a hazing. Like a college initiation. I did it hard till I had worked all that slosh down into her intestines to grow. I had mixed her up good by the time I had to come. I did her the courtesy of pulling out then, and sprayed it all on her double lumped vag flaps that stood like mounds of earth. Tilled up, airated. I stumbled over to the toilet and let the rest drip out, leaned against the wall with my bare hairy shoulder. It was cold. I stroked the big vein on the underside of my thing to drain it. Let it splash off the side and goo up the floor around it. I never made it in really. I tried to relax a little more, leaned my head against the tile too, happy. It was then that the door slammed. I turned around and knew she was gone. It was too dark for me to really know, I mean, she could’ve been in the corner or something, but why would she be? I tried to see her, but only one bulb was working now. Fuck. I almost wanted to get out of there to try and catch her before she got to far, before anyone could see me running wild and naked. I could tackle her, I guess, if no one was around. It had already been too long. Shit, I thought for a second she might run to the cops, but I knew she was more afraid of me. Cops weren't all tough travelling girl anyway. I shoulda used a fucking rubber. Whatever. She'll either never tell her friends, or weep in her fucking girl group about patriarchy or some shit. I felt around for my clothes, patting the piss-wet floor down thoroughly before I realized what she'd done. Goddamnit. They were gone and, fuck it. I loosened my fist. I could do what she did. I could be un in fucking Volved. I sat down on the floor and didn't care. This was where I needed to be, where I usually was. This was what I lived in, really lived in. Oh well. I thought to myself. Guess I'll just have to wear this bathroom for a while. Nothing new. Nothing new. I leaned back and made myself at home, trying to feel the bathroom out like a new shirt. I reached up and petted the underside of the sink. It’s okay. Just gotta break it in. Gotta own it. I stayed there on that floor through the night, wearing it like a king. Whenever anyone came to knock I just told them to get the fuck away. If they were going to get me out, they would have to do it with a broom and a gun, like a wild animal that gets up under your floor. I knew that then, that same feeling, and I loved it. They wore that floor like I did mine. The next night found me hungry against the wall. I had plenty of water in there, but no food. I went and drank some from the sink. Looked to make sure the door was still locked. When I laid back down, I heard them towing my truck away. Its rattling chain made me think of her for some reason as I looked over at my dried seed in the tile's cracks. I bristled my beard. I thought about the slosh. I guessed it was left somewhere by then, dropped off, languishing in some west Texas toilet with her pregnant shit. I wondered if she'd looked down and seen it then. If she'd even thought to do so. God, I thought. It might as well be my daughter. Yeah. The one I never see. (2 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Saturday, September 8th, 2007
1:21 am	888123000 What in the living hell inspectrometer bullshit. I want to roll in the garbage and reeeeeeeeel so badly in the light of the moon and the man who comes down and touches me from its many many holes. He brings a ladder and a can of soda to reach into me with, pulling quarters fro my belly like an uncles parlor trick. I hate him. He just brings gut tugs and candy bars, never quite convincing enough. When he looks to me I want to vomit. He suffocates me strangely, wrapping his slimy words around my neck and teasing me abut girlfriends. Sometimes he locks me in the well and makes me watch the shadow party. I don’t know why he touches me in such strange places but I just want to return to the barn and add to my earwax collection. Sometimes I sniff it. It smells like screeching rubber rearing up through my nostrils. It reeks of backalley rape and little boys infatuations. I wish I could tame it. I wish it would come with me. When I told uncle moon man about it, he just wrinkled his nose and turned off the sleaze. He brought out a dishrag and became too sick to clean the mound off of the floor. It still stares at me, foothilling in the night while I sleep. I need a mountain to call my own. I need another person to form from my leftovers. I try to collect all of my past cells so that they can form and retell my summers. They can find their way back to each other after I have discarded them for my new parts. New cells moving in, my body a completely new one from the last week I am just an idea I suppose. I’m only my body sometimes and never can I be found. Try. I dare you. (4 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Monday, May 7th, 2007
12:05 pm	09784498 Tip toeing out into the warming darkness, he is timid yet confident. He is black on black. The form defined by its worn rounded edges. He looks up. The stage lights come on behind him, elucidating those edges and leaving the shadow as his creamy center, swirling in it's darkness and drooling off of his fingertips. He is in a strange form tonight folks, stretching from floor to celling in a gooey shadowed taffy pull. But where is he in this stretched out mess? ...Where IS the author now? I don't see room for him in this plasticy thin crearure, all fanned out with its magnifiscient fingers. Where is the artist now? I barely see room for a man in this stark alien form. We have caught the man transposed, trapped in some all-too-human form of naked midnight wanderings. A form none of us want to demean the greats with. Is he hiding just under that alien tarp? just tell it: He isn't here. He simply isn't here. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Sunday, March 4th, 2007
4:02 am	**1 Hey world. Fuck its been a while. (6 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Wednesday, January 31st, 2007
4:09 pm	POTLUCK/FUNFEST POTLUCK THIS SATURDAY AT THE ROBIN'S NEST 6PM SHARPPPPPP! LISCENCED PARTY OFFICER JAMIE PROTT WILL BE ON DUTY ALL NIGHT BRING VEGAN/VEGETARIAN/MEATY DISHES AND TUNES DJ PICKLEFACE (ZACH) MIGHT MAKE AN APPEARANCE SEE YA THERE! (3 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Thursday, January 5th, 2006
10:55 pm	666****** ----------------------------------------------------- -Carnal Knowledge- We hide behind animal pelts. Bathing imposters dwelling in plastic eyes. bodyfucking whitchdoctors. -------------------------------------------------------- -Pissy Mud-sap- a pit of old babies makes its own gravy. -------------------------------------------------------- (5 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Monday, January 2nd, 2006
8:29 pm	i am all out passionetly fucking possibilities and ignoring tangibles. claw marks on my back, i greet the new year and make no new plans. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Saturday, December 24th, 2005
1:15 pm	Goddamn, ive been tapdancing in a daze as of late. If only i got some sensical outside input or could do the same with my output. still got that hankerin to live in a dead ass german shepard too. omg someone put me on the internets also. i whore it in two ways now. OOH BABY I LOVE YER WAYYYSSSSSS bathroom lickings and sensual butt kickings. nothin like xmas kids. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Wednesday, December 14th, 2005
9:52 pm	Pawl is displeased. Pawl is in a strange place. that is all. (1 Clockwork Rodent | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, December 13th, 2005
10:25 pm	man tit suckling #8854613666 Yeah i came out with some hairs stuck in my teeth, but I'm okay. I'll wear a helmet and some experience next time. Goddamn pillow ears, i boxed em good. I lay down and hear the mass movement, i stand up only to face down a fist in the face. OOOH LADI-DAHHH arent i fucking fancy. (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Thursday, December 8th, 2005
9:58 pm	1++-++pp i kuhnow. some gods, most cliches. Been some days. Yep. They sure have been days. we was just boys. livin in a....in a... in a DEAD ASS german shepard. a DEAD ass german shepard. we...we was just... Gowrsh . I guess i just wanna roam in a buffalo and chomp some people up and down. Gnasher gnasher fucker smasher. I reckon that would be a nice lil name. Put in in a shed witha bow on it. Be wooly stub i would. I just need a new skin me guesses. Gowrsh. I'm always on the look out for them boys. They'll be the ones. (2 Clockwork Rodents | Mechanize Your Hamster)
Tuesday, November 22nd, 2005
8:30 pm	Huh huh huh..... (Mechanize Your Hamster)
Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
7:54 pm	cherry plump eyes seared with smoke fissure with garbled goodbyes as the green fields grope. :) happy steak is a comfort. reindeer tears can ice the cake. Snuggle me up visceral marshmellow; rape and consume: evelope and deep fry. (1 Clockwork Rodent | Mechanize Your Hamster)