I woke up in a bed today next to beeping moniters and bags of juice dangling from what looked like very expensive clothes hangers, looked down to see my body was bruised and red and swollen with sores, there was a nurse washing my groin with a damp washcloth that felt like sandpaper. She looked up at me when I twitched and looked as suprised to see me as I was to see her. I tried to speak but couldn’t. She tried to speak but she couldn’t. Her name tag said Flo. I wanted to buy her a drink and a slice of lemon pie but I couldn’t even manage to ask her what she thought about my boy parts. She ran out of the room and came back with a team of doctors and nurses that filled my room. They poked and proded at me, they spoke but their voices sounded metallic and it hurt to listen to them, the one doctor, the guy I assumed was in charge, after all his name tag said Dr. Charles, had one of those headbands with the metal discs on the front that made him look a bit mad, he wrote on a giant white board “Can you read this?”, I nodded yes, he erased frantically, “You were very badly hurt” he wrote, I nodded yes, after all it was apparent I was in a hospital and my bed sores were evidence that I was here for quite some time now. “You were in a coma” he wrote, I stared, he erased, “This is the first time we’ve seen your eyes” he wrote, I stared, he erased, he looked at a calendar, “Its been 143 days” he wrote, I cried, they cried, he erased, “A car ran a stop light, and hit you at about 67 miles per hour” he erased “you were very lucky” I looked at him as if he had three heads, because according to my vision he did indeed, every now and again appear to have three heads. “The damage to your body is restricted to” he wrote and the pen began to fade as did my vision, I remember seeing Flo’s nametag rushing at me, thrusting her hands toward my head just as the black spots crept back over everything. It felt like doing heroine in public bathroom stalls.
Today is a rather sweet day, and this walk I went on was like a candy bar surprise in the middle of an already deliciously juicy nectar cake. I was walkin down the road, in a rather bouncy and cheerful way I suppose, and I happened upon a little bird, biting at the bits of bitter bread broadly scattered across the sidewalk, and with each step he looked as if he wanted to stop. He wanted to look at me and say “this isn’t worth it, all these steps and there is never any sweet bread at the end”, And I had all this nectar cake dripping from my lips like strings of guilt that collected in puddles on the patterned sidewalk. So I swept up the crumbs for him, and sprinkled sugar on the pile. He looked as if he wanted to say “thank you friend, for sharing your sweet stuff with me”. I walked some more and saw a dog tethered to a little boy who lost their ball underneath some fence. The dog barked at me and the boy turned and dashed in my direction and he yelled at me “mister mister, won’t you lift the fence me, my ball is there, just there, behind that rotten tree”. And I said to him “OK”. And I lifted the fence so that the dog could go through and retrieve their lost red ball from behind that stinking tree. And then the boy looked at me and said “Hey mister, thanks mister, for lending a helping hand, oh mister, oh mister, you just don’t understand, that was the last ball we had, and we had no moneys for more”. I just shrugged my shoulders and said “Sure”. Then I met a man, said his son and dog were off somewhere, that he was broke and needed money for beer. And I strained and strained but this day had me in a very uncharecteristic mood and I reached for my wallet, I woke up hours later, walletless. And I thought maybe the boy can get some more balls now. Then I realized why I don’t have days like this. And then I realized I actually lost my wallet when I was drunk the night before and tried to rob this olive garden waiter on his way home from work. Unfortunately he had no money (cause he works at the olive garden) and a knife which is a good distraction from a kick to the head. Now I’m the one with no money for balls.
i’ve been in pennsylvania for three days now and it’s not so bad.
i basically slept the whole way, and then when i got here i went to salvation army to find clothes.
they had absolutely nothing, except for this really cool train engineer’s hat which i bought. yay. I looked like a queer in this hat for sure but I thought you know, when in Rome right?… right?
The next day we went to hershey park and i went on this new ride called farenheight.(HAHA!HA! Yea!) it takes you straight up and then it drops you down on a 98.6 degree angle, aka over vert.(pffffffff) it looked kind of small but it suprised me. it was nice and smooth and a lot longer than it looked. i also went on the great bear four times(holy moly was this ride the tits, i mean it was better ‘an heated seats in January my friend) and roared my eyes out. abe(!!!!!!) and i got a good on-ride photo. then we just did all the other rides and then got frostys and went home. prices are outrageous in the park. this year it’s ten bucks to rent a locker, versus last year’s 75 cents. crazy.
today it is raining, and i picked my nose for a little while in the car safe because of the tiny droplets that acted like shields from wandering commuter eyes as they gathered on the windows, and i was going to go to Lebanon Park but it doesn’t look so good. so i’m going to go get books. bye bye.
references
see : scituate bmx
I saw a girl today and it was like she shook something deep down inside of me. She was, in fact, the first beautiful thing I’ve seen in months, not like the rest of the girls here. She wasn’t flaunting her sexuality and intricacies on her shirt sleeves, oh no, no, this girl was hidden somewhere in the depths of her own image waiting for someone to pluck the delicious fruit from off her rather normal looking tree. I began to scribble some words in my notebook… It’s as if she floats on fluttering insect wings, like she was drawn with god’s own imperfect hand and stamped ‘beautiful’ by some quality control agent named Olivia. Her smile dangles on marionette strings suspended from the probably smooth and wonderful roof of her mouth. I want to drag my tongue across it. Taste the suliva as it beads from her glands, before the air can ruin its flavor. She walks like I imagine queen pieces would walk in chess, if they weren’t clumsily slid by the hands of people. She looks at everything but at no one. Notices the creaks in old trees swaying at their knees. But not the stupid boys who stare at every girl but her. And it’s as if, the graying sky dips, to ask for her hand in a dance with the persuing night, and I notice her sway, every which way, with air in her palms, as the night moves on… because even night gives up on beauty for dime a dozen Jersey sluts with short skirts and ugg boots after a few drinks.
Abe is looking a bit sluggish these days, and frankly his personal hygiene has become a cause for concern. Hes got these long toe nails (or finger nails? do turtles even have feet or hands? WHERE ARE THESE GROWTHS GROWING FROM!!!!!?) and he won’t cut them. I leave the nail clipper right next to him and he just chews on it a bit and then walks away. And so I yell “WHAT THE FUCK TURTLE! CLEAN YOU’RE FUCKING SHIT! YOU SMELL LIKE BAAAAALLLLLSSS”. He even started developing this horrible rash in his nether regions. That smells (and tastes) like feta cheese. So I went to the store to get him some dick cream. I went through all the boxes but none of them said that they would work for turtles, I did however find one that said “Top 5 Best Dick Cream” I grabbed that shit up like I thought I was the man and brought it home to rub on my rotting turtle.
My keys to apartment don’t really work so well. Or I don’t know how to use them or something. Either way, homeless guys still dig through my buildings trash on trash day. And when my keys don’t work, or I can’t work them, I am forced to listen to drunken sighs and gurgles or somewhat coherent and hilarious conversations. So I’m rasslin with the door when this guy who is digging through the trash begins to talk. He says “Look at this” and shows me a brand new victoria’s secret box with perfumes and lotions and shit and says “you know my wife hates when I dig through garbage but she likes when I bring stuff like this home” and I say “fuckin women eh” and then I think, wait you have a wife? I dont have a wife, and this fucking guy has one, wtf dooooood. I also think please door, please open. So hes talking and im nodding and he tells me about some other sweet shit hes found, some nice writing ball point pens and some girls underwear that hes currently wearing, he showed me the strap. It was leopard print. Then I turn back to the door, and im wiggling the shit out of it when he says “Hey (I dont turn around), hey man!, you didn’t throw away a bunch of dicks did you” I look at him rather confused and startled and he holds up a bag, “cause this bag is just full of them”. Indeed the bag was chock full of dicks, they were poking out the side and sticking out the top, “this one” he said, “still had the batteries in it… it scared the shit out of me…….. So you don’t care if I take the batteries” I said “why would I care they ain’t my dicks” he said “yea sure man, whatever… so it’s cool if I take the batteries?” The keys work and I walk inside.
