i don't know how to ride a bike.

what would be an appropriate name for a literary press?







i can't name anything myself.

i don't normally post my writing here, but this is short and a dead-end and i suppose i just felt like offering it up. i don't think i like it. i don't feel it has much zest.

( the funeral.Collapse )

of all the little, unfinished things i wrote in the past 3 years, only one sentence that i found had any sort of promise, and that single sentence was all that was written.


even that needed work.



it's summer and all kinds of beautiful things are happening.

( adventures in film!Collapse )

hangover headache.




i'm so antsy but i don't want to do anything but lay in bed. i ache for nothing! the collision of so much and so little.

yesterday at work everybody smelled like hot typewriter ribbon.

i have not forgotten you!








that said, it's cold here and i'm going back to sleeping with one eye open.

i believe i've come to an agreement with the spider in my bathroom. he won't rear his little brown..head and crawl about while i'm in there, i won't throw him in the sink. he won't build webs on whatever personal items i leave out (most recently it was the mouthwash bottle), and i won't rudely knock his dinner (filet a fly carcass) out of the web so he has to go get it off the floor. it's a nice arrangement.

"it's not like you can just eat an orange, you have to seduce the damn thing."

driving home from work with don mclean's "american pie" (thankfully) barely audible, my father reminded me of how my first driving lesson involved a lack of power steering fluid, running over a curb uptown and blowing a tire. it's decidedly much funnier to him now than it was then.


i turn twenty in 29 days.