idiocy
Sunday, January 11, 2004
so...afteer making the poor poor cabbie detour to drop me at abank machine to crawl home...then, then i find the missing ten argh, fuck you, pocket god!!!!! anyway.so, shall i die tonight, alone with my pug eating me for nourishmetn, whilst i freeze to death by the road sise? or rather, side? it perhaps is better, and definitely more noble, for, i find tonight that on the two-person short list for 2004 there is one that i shall not have, or rahter, am not so allowed to purrsuse, because he is well a --- ------ and not in a good way, (not htat there ever is?) and what are your chances, he is the one, the wee blonde one with the big brown eyes that haunts you like he should be famous, well, in all the world yet all this stupid drunken town, he is known of courseby my people and i am not allowed...........i suspect if i were able to slip a note about a cheap motel on an interstate, perhaps, there could still be a meeting, but would he be sober enough to remember? anyways, there is an ice stomr it is ireelevant, nonetheless, MOTHERFUCKER, what are the chances? well, the chances are mine.=one in a gazillion, .
so, as i drooled on the head rest of the seat ahead of me, i asked the cabbey to please turn up the U2 on the radio and i don't care if it is iridiculous, for right now i am drunk and ieven if i were not, i am, too, tho, this is not on the allowed list fo new yrears etdc. m fuck.......................................
what were my chances? i suppose in aplace as small as portland, better, giod, small? whatever, i guessi just regret, that i yet lose you to your profession......i guess, like a stupid public -spray-painted-in -a bus-stop-notation-diary...tho i cannot yet have you know you or nothing and from here on out i must stay away and hide in my own new ish neighborhood bars, i guess i just want you to know, that in my own weird stupid way, mr inaccesible blonde brown-eyed sugar, well, in that 12-hour motel way, i love you, and whatever your ill-advised activitiy way, i wish you well. fuck. to quote bob and the canadians ands all their punk rock power, fuck, motherfucker, fuck what do you mean fuck?...... fuck. is beer my only solace? of course jnot. and tho i don't know if this counts as heartbreak, it is more cognizant than that, well, fukc,. ilet's just say if i were not already drunk , i should hbe. ... and now, off to death in a slushy snow drift, to die alone and unlaid with my uncaring fat pug dying in the ice beside me while the boy with the brown eyes does not notice, nor care.......yeah, yeah, lament, my city is burning, whateer, i am going to just play g n r reaaallly loud, fuck you, this may help cleanse me. no. but i have nothing else. except for save neutral milk hotel, there, i have said it, i have spilled my sutpiedest secret, in an aeroplane over the sea, if only............., etc......................fuck. ""don't tell them it ended like this...tell them i dsaid something"" -==pasncho vills.