Wednesday, July 21

dinner at the rainey residence


Toby: "So this guy comes up to these women and says, 'you two are nothing but fucking lesbians' and tells them how much he hates gays and queers....and then so the officer comes and says the damn tags are expired on that hotline complaint--"

Me: "Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? How did we go from lesbians to hotline complaints?"

Toby: "That's how my day went, ok."

Luke: "Two chiggers got married on my penis yesterday."

All: "Shit, Luke, we didn't want to know that."

Phil: "If I get this horse, can you take care of it for me?"

Me: "I don't have the money to pay for your horse."

Luke: "Chiggers!"

Phil: "Guess that means we won't be having sex for awhile. So this horse is a buckskin with a palomino mane--"

Me: "That's a palomino."

Phil: "Well, whatever. It has four legs."

Toby: "No shit? Four legs? That isn't standard on a horse."

Luke: "This is a metaphor for our relationship!"

Phil: "What is?"

Luke: "The chiggers!"

Toby: "Jules, did you know that horses had four legs these days?"

Phil: "Are you going to finish that?"

The warm breath on the back of my neck reminded me why I liked this so much. His hands spread out on my stomach, gripping me tight against him. He didn't say "I love you," but he didn't have to--it was there in the soft gasp as he came, the slow relaxation of his body, the bruise on my shoulder from his teeth.

I didn't have any nightmares.

So I met this beautiful girl named Regan. I suspect she's entirely too rich for my tastes, but she'd never met such a clean man in her life.

Sunday, July 18

i'm so punk rawk


I just had my first hardcore punk experience.
 
I met a band at the mall. Well, more specifically, a boy from the band (James). He was very nice. They are on tour and need gas money, so go buy a CD (only $5). I gave him a small plastic pony, since I didn't have any cash, and he named it after me.
 
Two hardcore punk experiences in one day -- I also bought my first pair of Converse All-Stars. Green (tangerine doesn't come in my size, or I would've been rocking the orange). It took me a week to find the color and size I need in low-tops. (I met a second cute boy in Hot Topic, but that's not really unusual.)
 
This was a completely superficial entry, not unlike the last one, and I apologize.


cut it out.
your self-afflicted pain is getting too routine
(the crowds are catching on).
here we go again.
yeah, what a hit.
you gotta sink to swim.
we all know art is hard
(artists have gotta starve).
keep churning out those hits
until it's all the same old shit.
tired of entertaining,
drunk and angry slurs,
still you gotta sink to swim,
immerse yourself in rejection.
 
the bottom line?
art fucking sucks hard,
i swear i'd live for the art
and the art alone and all that
noble crap-ass,
but college loans...
salmon teriyaki habit...
and i want some
motherfucking cable.
 
that's where emo comes in.
 
(lines from cursive's "art is hard," aka cry me a fucking river, and some beau sia poem about selling out. in it he also mentions "fucking like the kama sutra come to life" (or something like that) and "tell my ass where you want it and i will bend over." when performing the piece on hbo's def poetry jam, he wore a pink turtleneck and skin-tight pants. he's not gay.)

Friday, July 16


It's thirty minutes after I spent an hour crying. Him and I are in a freshly-cleaned stall, my head on his chest. The mare we are sharing it with is heavy with foal; every now and then her stomach ripples with a kick from the baby inside her. She's been through all this before so she doesn't really notice, just keeps whuffling around her stall, keeping an eye on me and him. She has always taken care of me when I need it.
 
He lights a cigarette, knowing good and well how stupid it is to do that in a barn. We watch the smoke drift upward in the dull light. "What's your favorite thing about me?" I ask.
 
He takes a long drag, considering. "I have to pick one?"
 
I look at him, silent. My eyes and lips are red like blood.
 
"Your jeans," he says, "your inability to take a joke most of the time. Your laugh. Your reinactments." Pause to inhale more smoke, breathing tar towards his death. Smirk. "The face you make when you come...for the third time." Me, still saying nothing, just watching. His ears and teeth flash when the lightbulb flickers off and then back on. "The way you talk about your characters like they are real people."
 
I smile, just a little. He wants to kiss me but doesn't, because what I said is still in his ears: don't fucking touch me! jesus, don't even come near me. He squeezes where my ribs used to be and gets up to put out his cigarette.
 
Out in the pasture, Aster's call cuts through the midnight air. "Go tell Aster you're ok," he says.
 
I kiss the pregnant mare's nose, tell her thank you for sharing her home, and go outside. Aster is standing by the fence with her ears pricked and mane tangled. Her nose trembles in recognition as I open the gate. She steps towards me, puts her head over my shoulder so she is standing over me protectively. I lean into her. She smells like summer and happiness.