dear alabama,

j mascis wants to know where you been. ive missed you and i aint never kissed you. tell me all about yourself. where do you live. are you a neighbor, are you a faker, are you a player, are you a hater.

i walk down the street with one hand in my pocket and one holding a cigarette squinting cuz i always forget my cheap sunglasses and i see girls with parisols and girls with high tops and girls with dreadlocks and i wonder is that her, and two of them will push their noses up against the window of a shop and i pass by whispering alabama but they never turn around.

alabama. what sort of name is that? italian?

i still cant get that white stripes bass line out of my head and i guess thats a good thing. life is beautiful when theres a good song being played on the radio. i remember the first time i heard with or without you. the first time. you too hadnt had a new record in a long time and in the middle of the night going south on the 405 just past the 10 the dj put on the familiar bass line of with or without you and it was like someone slowly opening up a christmas present for me in the middle of the night like a magician with white gloves while a rabbit emerged from the hat and it wasnt a rabbit at all. it was bono and he wanted to howl.

where did you sleep last night. was it beneath twinkly stars. are there fireflies where you live. was the window open. alabama, whos the manna.

do you like the beastie boys ms whoorley. i dont want to be here today. i want to be anywhere. i fly over these houses and theres all these swimming pools and movie stars and nobody is ever using their pools and it makes me sad. it makes me want to land chopper one and dive in. it makes me want to oh theres someone swimming. lots of people dont wear clothes when they swim in their pools. i think i would. im sorta shy about that stuff.

last night this girl found my s/n and started asking me all these question. personal questions. sexual questions. i was in a trusting mood so i told her. im sure it will end up in some british tabloid but i’ll just deny it. but i’ll tell you cuz youve never done me wrong. youve always been so cool to me. ive never done anything for you and there you went and made a blog with my name all over it. she asked me about oral and i told her and she told me that i was insecure. i told her that i am insecure but not in those moments. i told her that the best cure for an insecure boy is a naked girl getting nakeder. not saying a word. no music playing. no nothing playing.

just the crickets in the tall grass, just the thin curtains rubbing against the blinds. just the breathing. just the eyes closed. just the mouth opening, then the mouth closing. rubbing their legs together. making little sounds together.

i dont want to be anywhere near here today but since i have to i will do what my good pal told me to do and ask that girl from the third floor to lunch. i have my evil kenievel leather pants on and my super tight tsar tshirt, black. my belly is shrinking but not by much. my hair is so bad. hows a guy gonna get any with this hair. i want to keep my helmet on. i want to keep my cowboy boots on. i want to keep my spurs on but the marines think im going loco. im not going loco alabama.

im not going anywhere.

ms. whoorley

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