thankfully i do have my slick friend kate coming in to town on friday evening to rock out with me all weekend. how nice to be around someone who actually has her shit together, who doesn’t annoy the shit out of me, and whose abuses of her own self are lessons learned. not projected outwards in some kind of feigned fucked up pity me party. people are pretty sickening i have realized. so cardboard like in quality, so lacking of any real sustainable substance.

substrate. substitute. infiltrate. you bore my mind.

back a few years ago it was so all about not rhyming. i had my own rhythm in my writing, not depending on any kind of patterning. the rhymes you know?

reminds me of:

the penguins do flips as the sea level dips
lick more salt from my lips
add more french fry grease to my hips

my friend, lost and found again sister friend, and i sent that shit into this kid’s zine because he kept masturbating and milking the fact that he would print anything and anything that was sent to him.

apparently this poem and one about spilling juice all over yourself equated the demise of his little periodical. it’s something i have felt less than guilty about. mainly because that’s a terrible premise, publishing with no standards.

but anyways…so i have been going through lots of poems i wrote in 2001 and 2000 and even 2002. and i am going to try and submit them for publication in some kind if chapbook contest. because they are sitting in a gigantic file in the bottom (literally the first entry) of one of my email folders. plus, notoriety could be interesting.

i always wanted to write about people i know and situations i have observed under some kind of alias, because, as it’s been quoted to me: you can write what you know, but not who you know. with such a hysterical and tragic history of my own life and the lives of those i have even just had conversations with: i don’t see any reason behind hiding stories until the person is dead. or out of my life for that matter. write about them somewhere somehow. maybe they will see themselves in my writing. maybe they will have to wonder. either way, why waste a good story? i don’t mean this in a sleazy journalistic kind of way, but in a write about what and who you know as inspiration. write under an alias, don’t give any real names, don’t use any real numbers.

fiction as non-fiction. non-fiction as friction. someday you might all just end up a song at the bottom of someone’s dusty box.

my job. oh can i just explain the gloriousness of it all?

it’s not a bad job. it doesn’t require any real give in terms of time or talent beyond the 7.5 hour shift that i am paid for.

but some of the shit they do:

and someday the companies i have worked for may just be sorry i ever worked for them:

so on saturday they decided to fumigate my co-workers. wha? you might ask, and i can tell you. some of my coworkers were effectively fumigated. because sir terminex, or whomever he was for lack of a better term, was probably not told not to spray in the vicinity of working people. now, it’s not that they don’t know this, because it is clearly printed on the canister he was spraying from. but my company probably told them to come in whenever they could, keeping in mind probably how much cheaper it was to come during daytime hours as opposed to the midnight shift. so the dude sprayed his shit, and several of my co-workers left with not only burning eyes, but one left in an ambulance, suffering from heart conditions on the very same medicine as myself.

did i forget to mention they bought us pizza to make up for it? yeah, and they baked us a cake. and they sent a letter saying how “very sorry” my company was and that the chemicals posed no long term effects and I believe even stated non-toxic. but, they added, for any of you seeking outside medical assistance (ie the er), we have established workman’s comp forms for each and every one of you that day to pay for the outstanding medical services. i’m sure that my co-workers (most of whom have yet to return to work, mind you) would be pleased to know how sorry my company is. and how non-toxic those chemicals were when sir bug killer was wearing a gas mask.

between that and the gym’s policy of not providing health care to anyone without nine months of work under their belt, well I have worked at some stellar outfits. and on a side note: unofficially they make their employees wait nine months because back in the day pregnant girls would get hired and the poor gym was required to pay for their childbirths. cut it out to nine months and the mommies would have to quit before they got it….

anyways. my fingers are cold. i couldn’t go to boston to see mwood tonight. mostly because of the bug incident. partially because kate rocks.

go us, we are tearing the town up!