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the interwebs: how i made my home in a tube. current song: screenwriter's blues by soul coughing. exits to freeways twisted like knots on the fingers jewels cleaving skin between breasts your cadillac breathes four hundred horses over blue lines you are going to receda to make love to a model from ohio whose real name you don't know you spin like the cadillac was overturning off a cliff on television and the radio is on and the radioman is speaking and the radioman says women were a curse so men built paramount studios and men built los angeles it is 5 am and you are listening to los angeles and the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there and the radioman says rock and roll lives and the radioman says it is a beautiful night out there in los angeles you live in los angeles and you are going to receda we are all in some way or another going to receda someday to die and the radioman laughs because the radioman fucks a model too gone savage for teenagers with automatic weapons and boundless love gone savage for teenagers who are asthetically pleasing in other words flies los angeles beckons the teenagers to come to her on buses los angeles loves love it is 5 am and you are listening to los angeles i am going to los angeles to build a screenplay about lovers who murder each other i am going to los angeles to see my own name on a screen five feet long and luminous and the radioman says it is 5 am and the sun has charred the other side of the world and come back to us and painted the smoke over our heads an imperial violet it is 5 am and you are listening to los angeles you are listening.... to los angeles not the normal, every day color that everyone sees. i mean the technicolor that i see; when the neon signs burn the air around them like a flourescent halo, when i see the blades of grass ripple white-green-black-green in the wind - when even the wind has a color and a shape as it pushes in pale milky blue gusts between my fingers as they are spread apart, thrust out of the passenger window. there is a strange paradigm shift that happens to me, when i cross the threshold from the world in here to the world out there. you see, it works like this... in here i am known, without really being known. i am whoever i want to be at any given moment. i am all the things i ever wanted to be, and more. i have the world at my feet. out there i am nothing, except to the people that know me; and they know me as a failure - a divorcee, disabled and addicted to cigarettes, pills, and warcraft, fumbling over my words when i speak like a child, angry and mean because i hurt all the time. i've gained nothing in the last year but weight, worry, and bags that hang under my eyes, blue-purple-black; a constant reminder to those that look at me that i'm always in pain. i have nothing in front of me but discomfort and uncertainty. my computer doesn't judge me as i sit here, strung out and tired, my hair discheveled, my glasses crooked and smudged, my t-shirt stained and stretched out, a cigarette dangling between my lips. it says nothing when i lift my shirt and spray under my heavy breasts with the canned air for my keyboard. it just sits paitently as i type words that come from the physical and end up in the ether. i like that; all the somethings i think are replicated into the nothing that is the internet. these letters go forth, spawning a legion of new combinations of words, that traverse the world. and besides, fuck, now i don't have to leave my house, let alone use my phone, doing away with almost all actual human contact. if you're asking how i get the pizza without talking to the delivery man, it's as simple as this... 1. order it. 2. pay with a credit card, but make the purchase under $25 so i don't have to sign for it. 3. leave a note on the door, instructing the delivery person knock on the door 3 times, put the goddamn pizza down on the doorstep, and leave. 4. wait about 30 seconds. they'll get bored and leave. 5. dinner! dear god, i'm a shut in. it's a really good thing that i have a job, because if i didn't i would never leave my aparment. at this point i'm sad, because this was turning out to be a beautifully written entry, and it went to shit. but honestly, i don't care. it's not like i'm going to bump into any of you tomorrow. ~*~ immediate yesterday. ~*~ divination. ~*~ get your own guestbook here |
