Tuesday, August 26, 2008

this is an actual work email...from my job



Subject:
Hi, Mateo!
Could you have a lead and/or mngr look at 18m.jpg? I'm not sure if
she's wearing undies or if that's a hairy bush. Please update and re-
send to the photos que for processing if necessary.

Mahalo! ;-p

Friday, April 18, 2008

ode

disregard the feel of my palm
against your cheek
the lines that tell my fortune are
embedded with dirt and
(i work hard)
its hard work
being this casual about the future
this rolled-eyes, shrugged-shoulders puppet of
your christmas past
a love letter folded so many times,
you have to guess at the words lost to creases
"for you"
"forever"
and honestly
"forever" is just a gimmick to get you to
on your knees.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

- scenes from a panic attack -



There are no special tricks to get a passport in a hurry,
if you have never in fact, had a passport. Clicking on links like "How to get a passport in a hurry" will not help.

There's a thing about homeland security.
A thing about the Truman Show and how he was tricked into thinking there was nothing more to see in the world.

I remain unconvinced.
I send emails to remind certain people the certain way they certainly make me feel.
A series end or a cliffhanger 'til next season?
A Virgo, I leave that open-ended.

Last week I got a text that started "I hate to be the one to tell you this..."
Coincidence number 4764764734698: Mere hours before that text, I gave away all my klonopin. My entire month's supply thinking I could get more, but knowing I probably wouldn't.

Getting a passport in a hurry is like trying to maybe have your tubes tied. Or maybe a late term abortion.
Waiting period. Papers to fill out. Notary stamps, the are-you-sure's, the people to notify in case of.

There is nothing born of impulse anymore and my body, my soul can't take it.
And so i numb it. White lines, blue lines, bong hits. 3.99 bottles of wine.

My one impulse is muted by the ear-splitting calls of my own heart, which lies in an eternal palsied state; loud but still, until you kiss me.
And make it better.
How Long?
How Long?
How Long?