February 2010
40 posts
Apparently it was a falsehood that led me to believe putting garlic and lens cleaner on a glass-sliver cut in your skin wouldn’t hurt.
January 2010
35 posts
Temporarily brought back to the year I spent driving through cemeteries in the small hours, all around the southeastern United States.
I miss the days when you could tell a cop, “I don’t remember that at all,” and then everything would sort of start to blow over.
The Social Services offices were rowdy today. I sat in a taxi drinking a Four Loco before going back in with my camera.
My attorney left a drunken, tear-filled voicemail for me at 5am. Now he’s claiming it was all for fun. But it didn’t sound that way to me.
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When I was the apprentice to a butcher, I’d scrub hooks, aprons, tools and wooden tables for 9 to 10 hours a day. Still have soft hands.
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Did you notice how terrible he looked in that suit? He looked so unkempt. This was the worst court date I’ve ever had.
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8 hours into this very quiet and calm session of dusting photographs. Drinking Jose Cuervo and listing to early Iggy Pop solo records.
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Odd hallway that stretches forever in my dreams.
Your letters and your numbers and the slow code of conversation that you have with me … Ouija board, please accept these somber kisses.
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Today’s dreams seem so vague, incriminatingly mocking and impossible. Maybe tomorrow’s dreams will be better.
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It’s as if they all just … disappeared. So you get up out of bet, shake the dreams off, and you hold your head a little low.
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Opened a bottle of champagne this morning by myself for the first time. I’d always been worried I’d get my eye busted out with the cork.
Often I find it’s not worth it to argue with the District Court Judge when she’s speaking to you but glaring at your attorney. Life, huh?
