forget yesterday, remember tomorrow.
trust me on this one.
it only hurts.
he sits cross-legged the pail between his legs.
we used to called it "indian style".
the sand is gritty and moist and troublesome.
she has freckles between her breasts.
getting star tattoos is tired.
he can't find his cigarettes.
the smell of the air is salty and mildewy and will bring tears later on.
smoking, he finds the minutemen cassette and stays in the car.
star tattoos are dumb.
it only hurts.
our dear friends at amazon informed me that my copy of the new Joe Meno tome has "shipped"... i ordered in july and it was released 10/30/08. why shipped now. why not then. my clock reads 12/2/08. i suppose they have earned a fuck-up or two.
i will get another cup-o-joe and await news of my bailout.
or cabinet appointment.
i mean i donated like $40.
bwbout.
max beckman, self portrait (1901)
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