July 18, 2010 § 2 Comments

let my hair get sweated
white tanktop
move the breasts to the floor
and pick up the mess (spraypainted box filled with to-be-stored vhs, holders broken)
her knee and my knee
we say 123
CVS calls. refills? are you holding her hand? other line.
“i am at cvs….”
“the woman across from you is talking to me”
then i hear them talk to one another and they hang up on me.

i have a face sheen
i have been writing a short story
wait till you find out what has been in your blood!
i bet you suspected it all along
3 doctors quit on me. being on medicaid sucks.

are you coming out are you
no i am frozen in the heatlock of my hips and knees
if you understood the summer of 2002
you’d get it, i swear. just give me a moment. i leaf through my
iphone and pluck out a diagram
“here is the map”
i am an advertisement for humans especially when i look
so regular or irregular. all those days in between i am
black and white floor tiles of preferred bathrooms
you kneel in and most of those are cracked
from people dropping.

we fixed the marker light. it popped out. we went to sears
no long phillips head screwdrivers
and i almost fainted
and then i read my trade paperback in the garage.
this chair sure is squeaky.
do you want money or a new
radiator for your birthday?
“jeez” i say. we’ve been at the shop all day and my skin is crawling
from the sun or the motor oil or conductor lube or whatever the fuck is
staining this place and i realize all i’ve said is jeez because i’m smelling everything so i look at his hands and say,
i want the radiator. i want to drive to new paltz, and you know i don’t give a shit about money. duh.
i actually say “duh.”
“good girl”
he actually says “good girl”
i think i never want to drive again. just the other day, demz touched my back and said i was sweaty. well its hot out and i’ve been driving you around. CRIPES they don’t use directionals. “what are directionals?” WELL THEY LET ME KNOW WHERE PEOPLE ARE GOING MAN LIKE IF LEFT OR RIGHT. “dude” eleni says. you have to try this candy i got. its more sour than warheads.


since age two she has been drawing in my journals. she is six now.


sit on the brooklyn side of the east river. look at manhattan. hug someone. do not trivialize anything.


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§ 2 Responses to

  • I adore the photographs used in this entry.
    Four years of drawing in your journal? It makes the pages filled with ink seem even more precious.

    “are you coming out are you
    no i am frozen in the heatlock of my hips and knees”

    FEEL BETTER. I know, I know. Easier said than done. I know. But I don’t like my Kish in pain. 😦

    Love ya. ❤

  • WAIT! This is Crystal. Didn’t realize I was logged in differently. But I think you could’ve guessed. haha

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