i have the same headache i’ve had for some time. it starts at the back of my head and it moves to above my eyes. i feel nauseous.
she walks in. she has black glasses on and high shoes taller than herself.
i thought the boy who looks like a fuzzy picture was nice.
i sit upright dignified everyone can see that i have stature im not only a
frustrated medicated zombie.
the short woman sits where i sat when the woman who played with her hair aroused me.
the january sun shines in the grey sky.
jack has a red beard. it is as long as a saw. he works alone. his voice is monotone.
i should consider activism. it may save me from isolation disease.
i drink english breakfast tea.
i wasn’t able to finish the penn article, having read many paragraphs it
felt like i was still waiting for the article to begin.
a wanna be architect speaks his mind:bad ass building, different direction, this building has a cut and paste attitude, it is a federal building,just as modern now as then,ok peter this is going to be your bff for the next week, its been banged out, ok let’s do this.
yeah yeah, said his partner. it’s your thing.
they are restructuring a low building next door.
i feel euphoria and i feel generic dread i feel euphoria and i feel generic dread i feel generic dread and i feel euphoric i feel embraced i feel like something horrible is going to happen i feel pain and i feel nausea
i walk i talk i walk i talk i walk i think i think about the sand dunes. i think she had underarm hair. she liked hash. she didn’t want to share it. i had a friend who didn’t want to share his drugs with me. it made me sad that he loved something more than me. he would have killed me had i taken his drugs. i would have shared anything with him. we had our world. he was a very skinny and flinty boy. he liked to fight but no one ever wanted to fight him. they wanted to be his friend. everyone respected him. i didn’t want to fight but everyone wanted to fight me. the really big boys wanted to hurt me. i was scared that they would make me feel powerless if they got a hold of me. they never did get me but a few times. i was very fast especially when someone was trying to hurt me. i scared them because i had no friends but my one friend. i was apolitical.
she is shorter than i thought. she wears a long grey coat. she goes to the bathroom to look at herself. when she doesn’t know what to do or when she feels ineffective she goes to look at the mirror and sees the same small pristine face that she always sees. she returns to her seat, removes her bag from the chair and places it next to her feet. she has an iced coffee when it is forty degrees out. the fuzzy boy puts on david bowie who died from cancer to day. i was thinking about him yesterday. why was i thinking about him? was it because he was dying? i remembered how much my friend liked him and how much i liked him. i didn’t want to talk to my friend about how much we liked him. i didn’t want to share him.i wanted to smoke and listen to the one song i knew the words to and loved. i listened to bowie’s one very commercially successful album when i was at the sea and it seemed like i wouldn’t make it back to the beach in time before the water came back. now that he is dead i don’t have anyone to mourn his death with. i don’t know anyone at the moment who loved him when we were teenagers. i could contact my old friend. she’s on facebook she must know i’m on facebook. she’s as ugly as she was when we were teenagers and she removed her shirt to sunbathe. she had very large breasts that upset me when i saw them for the first time. they were perfect. the nipples were very large and there was ample breast. i had my pants and tshirt on and i didn’t want to join my friend in the sun bathing. we smoked cigarettes and ate potato chips. she liked potato chips and french fries. i liked to be with her. the breasts were noisome. she liked to run on her own at night. she ran into a forest. a man with a potato peeler cut her throat. she struggled with him and broke free. i was scared that i would go to sleep and wake up in the forest with the man and the potato peeler. the police went to the camping sites near us to look for him.
jack has brown work boots on, a black shirt and black jeans. his stomach is bigger than it was. i haven’t seen him in awhile. it’s good to see him. he takes small deliberate steps.
jack loves fantasy thrillers. he loves torture scenes. they awaken his curiosity. he likes to rip a branch from a tree. he tries to rip his roommate’s penis from his body but it gets really hard so he sucks it. jack doesn’t like the thought that every five minutes a helpless innocent person is tortured. the unfairness of it makes him so angry that he wants to kick out his roommate. jack thinks it is important that the victim is aware of what is happening or going to happen to him. he thinks that a victim that is too dumb to know what is happening as it is happening or doesn’t even know he was victimized until many years later is not uncommon. jack has never seen a beheading on youtube.