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Older scribbles and scribes. I know it's a strange combination of work, but each was written on a different day with different feeling.



"11/26/09"

I'm in love with Brazil, because in Brazil smoking cigarettes doesn't cause cancer.
Got a light?
In Brazil, cigarettes are just little breathing mechanisms, something to make your hot chocolate taste a little better.

..and then you get kicked off of the patio for smoking the damned things in the first place.

I haven't had a bad day in a long while. And I'm still singing the blues


"Trinkets"

The day was full of small reminders for me. Strange little memorabilia


Something reminded me of the day this boy was begging to kiss me, begging and begging and begging, and I said no. Not because I didn't wanna, it just wasn't the right timing. But I could tell by his anxious little movements how hard it was to ask so many times, so I made him a deal. "Let me burn you with my cigarette, you pick the place, and then I'll kiss you." I would never do something like that, but he didn't know me very well. I just wanted to see his reaction. He held out his arm, all shaky like, and closed his eyes. Then I kissed him. What a funny, smelly, fantastic boy.

Something else reminded me of this day in Galveston when I was younger. My mom rolled down my window to ask this woman for directions and she ended up being an old wrinkly prostitute. Looking back on this, my mother should have realized what this ghastly woman was doing out there. After all, she was wearing a feather boa and standing on the corner. She was leaned in my window, her face right above mine to where I was staring at her chin. Her voice was raspy, and as she was yelling she was spitting on me. My mom rolled up the window on her, and I cried.

And then of the day we drank malt liquor under the highway. We bought it on impulse and couldn't find anywhere else secretive enough to drink it. Then we laid on the concrete, my clasped hands holding my head, and my purse under my hands. His hand on my stomach. I can picture the way he looked up against the buildings, squinting in the sunlight.
Just a note: You were good to me for those hours. I miss you that day. But not in general. In general, you suck.

"X"

My point is

This is epiphany

The one minute where we realize every single thing

Every single detail we needed for completion

The feeling is so hot in our bellies

Melting our linings and acids and atoms

Under the wool we will go again

Until our bodies move on top and to the floor with the wool

These are mysterious conversations we are having tonight sir

Lovely weather also madam