III

i love Yevgeny Yevtushenko.

molly

the pinkertons

whether or not you loved her has no fucking bearing.

goddamn it all i wanted was some fucking vague conversation. i didn't mean for the whore to get murdered.

that'll be for a jury to decide. though there are avenues for a man in need of a quick escape. for a man of means.

but i'm fucking innocent!

we're all innocent mr. dailey.

writer's block

-you should be a writer.

white wine splashes punctuate

on the way home

fine, so how am i pathetic?

first, don't give away your last twenty just because she's broke. just because you're sad doesn't mean you have to throw yourself at her.

i'm not!

let me finish. second, please stop making stoned plans with strangers to do great things. i know it makes you feel good, but it's ridiculous.

like you ever do anything. you know, interviewing b-list celebrities and opining on CDs for newsstand rags isn't anything to fucking brag about.

that's not the point. the point is, you talk too much and you never do anything. you define sloth.

...

...

so, are you gonna' let me borrow deadwood or not?

the sharpest card

1000 blown out (candles)

sometimes i think that hiccups were invented by the same Force that created ice cream headache attacks. Some 9th circle bumbling geist, sentenced to the terrestrial plane as punishment for an astral level transgression. doomed to stew their pernicious powers in the tiny tin chamber pot we call humanity. talk about being underused; i imagine their sole pleasure comes in wreaking such minor havoc. I think these may also be the same devilish agents that discovered nails-on-chalkboard, the styrofoam squeak and red wine hangovers. weaklings are always so vindictive after punishment.

arcadia report

in the cab after you loaned me the book, i had to almost immediately roll down the window to vomit. i think the excitment got to me. anyway, the driver right away pulled over and so now i'm on foot and trying to read it from streetlamp-to-streelamp.

i'm really hoping that i'm gonna' be ok for my 10am tee time tomorrow. My plan this year is to count each and every round towards my handicap, and i'm berating myself because i fell for your shanghai routine, again. so i'm reading it like a careening pastor clutches the testament, but then i get to the bit about Fermat. Instantly i feel somehow like my life is a success because i know of the Enigma. Luck makes you. Things find you. Never give up.

I have to read you this part:
Septimus(definitivley): "Not! There are no more than two or three poets of the first rank now living, and i will not shoot one of them dead over a perpendicular poke in a gazebo with a woman whose reputation could not be adequately defended with a platoon of musketry deployed by rota."

i'm just saying that people can get waylaid by anything. still, according to f.w., it never hurts to accept an invitation. after all, if you don't go anywhere, probably nothing will happen. probably.

(note: i shot a 95!)

quarter in a soda can

His shoulders weren’t so thin
to begin with, see
beat soup won't get you
as far as she needs you to get
cuz love can’t be furious
if it doesn’t exist, so full
cool may will seem to green
revolutionaries
wrapped in hot conviction.
once they grow old though
it’s a completely different bet.

'comments'

Fyodor said...
Glad to know things went a little better today at the library, with the exception of the dirty old man. Wait, I could be that very old man soon enough. Ok. He was just a confused old man. Yeah, that's it.

Good luck in St. Petersburg. And do please take lots and lots of snaps.

Octavia said...
Oh dear. Did he leer at you?

Glad to hear things are going better at the library. Have fun in St. Petersburg!

Jaroslava said...
Oh, oh, oh. All I can say is "oh." I had this kind of thing in England, believe it or not...but in infinitessimally smaller scale, apparently. No wonder they like their vodka so much.

Janzer said...
Oh MY. May I suggest earplugs??? They drown out all sorts of unpleasant sounds. Not sure if they'll completely block out a jackhammer, but at least you won't have to hear the old guy's emissions. I guess a little Vick's Vaporub on your upper lip might help with the odor.

I feel like going to my public library and hugging everyone in sight!

Eustace said...
Thank God all the science journals I get information from are online these days (and I don't need to look up ancient information). I think you should sneak in and steal the librarians' due date stamp.

fifty-two

cares about dimes anymore

exiting the sleven there's an old guy sleeping on the steering wheel of a datsun. i'm happy for two reasons. First, because the overnight clerk forgot to charge me for my horoscope and when he realized it, he made an expression and said, pay double next time. i said i meant to steal it anyway and he laughed. And second because i realized that within any fixed space, mathematical properties apply. for example, soccer.

soapy's gang

dead wood philosophy

"Pain and damage don't end the world, nor despair, nor fuckin' beatings. The world ends when you're dead; until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man, and give some back if you can."

apache kid

the french drop

it's true, you have to work. and not just these sad sporadic bursts. i mean, work. due diligence. committed production. sustained, directed fucking effort. but it's hard not to be waylaid. especially alone. maybe that's why two is better than one. because i love to loll. and, not meaning offense, but women are better at the marathon. meaning, single's a plus and a minus. there's a reason there's two sides to money. i think guys are more burst oriented; they aim for great moments. decisive actions. they don't do well at sustained excercise. maybe olympic marathon records will undercut my drunken social theorizing; or those titans of industry and finance, or philip roth. it has been my experience that i'm pretty much always wrong about everything. but a woman can make you work, i do know that much. however, in the absence of such fairer motivation, i will abide with cards and dice and a guilty conscience.

things we can't have

just for now it looks bad, but you don't need to worry.

looking into her eyes you can tell that the ecstasy is totally kicking in. seems the only positive people these days are high.

you're so awesome you know that? you're so SMART!

she's pulling at her hair and grinding her teeth like they're tiny strippers. i love her when she's fucked up. she'd make a perfect road agent i think.

sunshine, just do what you came here to do. then we can both go home. ok?

don't boss me!

no. 12 on the diamond

donate commodities
relax for an instant
dialogue for love
exhibit nervousness

1934

(fibonacci) migraine

0 : 0
1 : 1
2 : 1
3 : 2
4 : 3
5 : 5
6 : 8 = 23
7 : 13
8 : 21 = 3 x 7
9 : 34 = 2 x 17
10 : 55 = 5 x 11
11 : 89

five$ per mandible

i wish there was a bounty on centipedes because i would make serious money.

i know, they're everywhere now.

hey, i got you a couple of books. want to know what they're called?

totally.

the first one is "the king of swings"--

--wicked!

i knew you'd like it. want me to read you the back cover?

yes.

'...an orphan from the omaha stock yards who started out as a caddie, he was considered too small, too foreign, too poor to play the country club game. but he swore he would prove everyone wrong--'

--wait a second, my other line is going off.

...

ok, i'm back. sorry for that.

no problem. the other book is called "Dream Golf: The Making of Bandon Dunes". It's about one man's quest to build the ultimate golfing experience.

those are awesome finds.

yeah. they're not even published yet. they're advanced reading copies.

which reminds me, i had a crazy dream last night during my migraine.

yeah?

yeah. it starts out that i'm sitting next to the president at a theatrical performance of the lost gospel of judas escariot.

based on the 3rd century coptic manuscript i assume?

exactly. so anyway, after the show, i wind up in the president's limousine but our car deviates from the motorcade's route because it turns out our driver is an assassin of some sort. it falls to me to save the president's life by escaping through a concrete labyrinth below the city. somehow i wind up in a cocktail lounge and i keep trying to call for backup but no one will let me use the house telephone because what i thought was an FBI badge turns out to be my highschool student card. Also my sidearm is actually a purple water pistol and commands no respect. it was very frustrating.

so what do you think it means? aside from the fact that you need to get a cell phone.

i dunno. maybe that i'm a closet republican. and i'll never get one of those devices. they've destroyed the world.

ha. you're impossible. anyway, we've always known you were a republican. we've been discussing it behind your back for years.

really? damnit.

as for the water pistol bit, maybe it's got something to do with Dillinger, or the soap gun thing from Take the Money and Run.

excellent points. i was thinking something more freudian, although the dillinger reference fits perfectly with that. or maybe the water pistol was because i just watched House of Games again.

is that a good movie?

oh yes, it's excellent.

mispotted dice (bad beats)

benny's depressed again. he says: 'i wish i could be funny like you guys.'

it's hard with benny because you don't want to tell him that he's a junkie. he always bragged about how he could handle things and how we were suckers. i don't hold it against him, but i find it ironic that he gets killed by the things he thinks he owns. he'd say this better than i can. except that he can't.

i just say, 'you're funny benny, don't worry about it.'

imperfect things must travel

the blind gardener

...congested, for instance
or foggy is another example.
she calls it fat tongue;
don't like the way that sounds,
but it's accurate

curriculum complaints follow
portions of every generation,
those who learn too late
how to monetize their thing.

one hundred and two

her desperate attempt to escape the rock
unlike roy gardner or the plight of
the apache kid,
had nothing to do with island prisons.