i cant sit on them. my hope is someone will read this one day and go, holy fuck man, and then insist that i work for them. better yet, that i work with them.
its ten thirty. i havent eaten yet. i had a very nice surprise guest who offered to drive me home from work. then we had beers and talked and talked and then my landlady wanted me to mail my rent check. and then miss montreal called. then my true love. there just arent enough hours in the day.
im reluctant to watch this pete rose interview on abc. im reluctant to watch donald trumps new show.
all i want to do is write to you as tom waits sings me his newest songs off my media player.
all i want is for calgon to take me away.
all i want is something different better faster sleeker louder taller thicker wetter juicier with less calories and no carbs.
tsars on now.
if it wasnt for bukowski i would think that either you made it at nineteen or you never made it ever. that either the world got you immediately or the best you could wish for was something cool after you died.
i dont think i wrote anything very good for aarons baseball blog and for that, aaron, i apologize.
i miss the sopranos.
wanna know what i resolve.
its ok to have new new years resolutions eight days after the new year.
i resolve to just be cool about the job i have.
and the life im leading.
and the words that get typed in this space.
its all so disposable anyway isnt it. no more or less important than my twenty nine dollar dvd player.
in real life america. in real life, theres a hot shot young woman who wants to spend the weekend with me doing what i love to do.
nothing.
once she just slept on my couch while i wrote and thats pretty nice.
im sorry i complained that it was seventy today, canada.
i’ll stop wishing i was better.