JOURNAL: Gay Sam @ Taco Bell -- A Great American Novel

What a dinge town.
there.  that's the opening line of the book I've decided to write just now.
I don't mean now-now, but that this is the moment I decided I would.

PICS: Rott Race

MLH: Two Old RR Beth Soliloquys

2
my fantasy is the invention of a fool,
Yet, is has power, and today it came again as a fit,
and I climbed from the revery with lost time.
It was a naughty daydream months ago --
it combated anxious thoughts;
it was my entertainment,
scheduled like a boy's favorite program.
I ignored that, with repeated viewings,
the vision rended, and re-rendered,
to this iteration capable of scheduling its own showings.
Thus the fits.
But roll that film through the projector!
Where once it was a crude wish, now it is
a curse, a riddle, and a revenging ghost
appearing unannounced to work me with a proposition.
I refer to the student.  William.  The hand-raiser.
The fawner with snake-scales for a face,
the yeti with a tin-can voice.
He interrupted me with her name.
The name powered the fantasy, and let fly.
And I heard him tell me my secret.
1
Did I mention the rain?
Steam on pulleys up from the alley
crowd us as we pull focus to that open window.
Spite the rain.  She courts our looking in.
Folded into the womb of her desk
her face painted with grey fire,
and she is transformed.
Hunched before the screen,
she plays the Christmas darling knelt to the fireplace,
counting the licks and strums of flame.
Look her closer: she's lank, she's paunchy;
she's a polyp on the desk.
with filthy hair.  with yellow fingers.
And her kaleidoscope shimmering age, from childish
to something what's been out in the weather,
signs to her wasting away.
Sick.  sick.  Sick as the screen,
a cursor blinking in and out;
she makes and breaks a thousand pacts a night with that keyboard.
Now rewind.
Out the window, up,
above her building, in an angelic holding pattern.
Subtitle:
the girl in the room.
the writer in the room.
the thief in the room.
Her first book was an optioned commodity.
A paperback with stickers.
Now her wasting is the fight with book 2.
And her screen shows something afar: her former quality.
Swoop, you, swoop again, and peep, Tom, on her ruin.
She suffers a challenge, but also
a secret.  One she has avoided until now.
She's a thief.

JOURNAL: Elvis Or Rapper; Buxton Wizard; Pixar Sucks; Pig Prose?

"Puppy Yojimbo 2" -- Below a bundle of bits copied from the journal that's traveling around connecticut in my truck.

PICS: February-Hartford

CHAZZ: Kezar Falls Is Magic

thought I was done with my Cousin 
Chazz, (what with his going into hiding), unfortunately he has as many readers as I do.  It being what it is, Chazz has proposed, (as he is still in hiding), to write a travelogue of the many towns and hamlets he visits, (always long after he has moved on to the next location).  As had been rumored, he spent much of last year in the hills of Kezar Falls; I asked Chazz why anyone would want to read his notes on the culture, flora, and fauna, of these small Maine towns; his answer was this, "Have you ever been standing in line at the Valero with your beer, cigarettes, and your scratchers, and overheard the dolt in front of you refer to a certain town as Limtucky?"
My answer was, "Never."
"Exactly.", Chazz said, "I'm like a cross between Italo Calvino and Emilio Estevez: I'll make'ya famous!"
On to the Chazz + Kezar Falls journal..