i've got the hook-ups.

finally i have my cable and internet back. yay! hehe. its been a long hard road filled with crappy phyllis whitney books (yeah, okay so it took the twentieth reading to realize how truly badly written they are, and yeah, i read them anyway) and spiderman II for the PS2. but now i'm polluting my mind with digital cable (they made me! i swear it! it was cheaper than installation cost!) and talking to jordan online. i know, i'm a sick bastard. but at least i have this blog to rant and write. i have another writing meeting on monday and i'm kinda worried because i haven't been doing too good on the whole writing thing. i've got one story i'm partial to and i'm going to share that one, but its only 3 pages or so and i think we decided on doing about 8 per session so i've gotta get cracking. i wrote a few pages the other day but i hated all of it. it was crappy. not exactly like a phyllis whitney book. i'm better than that, i think. and she got published, so i don't think all hope is lost.
a

so what the fuck.

so i'm waiting for christen to get home and i've spent the whole day with adrian. i have nothing to show for it. the laundry isn't folded and i've filled 5 large boxes with books and dvds and tapes and listened to adrian drone on and on, as is his way. the apt. looks pretty much the same; it doesn't look like i've been working. and perhaps i haven't. i did take down all the pictures. the walls are barren again, like they were when we moved in except with nails in the walls. i'll have to fill those in. i think i'm not working because no one else is. i am alone in the sea of boxes and clothes and crap. that's all it is -- useless crap we surround ourselves with because we're too scared to be without it. i'll chuck it all. screw it; its less to move.
you know that's a lie.
i know that's a lie.
i'll pack it tomorrow.

Civil War names last a really long time. 

Okay, so i found it.

i found my notebook -- it was buried under some crap next to the tv. i don't know how it got there, but there it was. just as i was so frustrated at the clutter and the fact that i can't fit through the space between my boxes of books and the bed. so here's some things.

she: wild animal hair, kinky like hot sex and aimless eyes. perched on the edge of an asphalt river, ready to merge but not sure which way to go. worn black shorts fall to the worn black knees and a loose worn black blouse is held tight by a brand new neon New Kids on the Block fanny pack.

he: feels bad about being racist; a product of the squeeze between affirmative action groups excluding him for being a middle/upper class white male and the moral majority that says that RACISM IS WRONG.

she: on side of dirty pool with baby blue capris rolled up above the knees; legs in the pool to sooth cracked heels -- dry like paper from early time. reading; it starts to sprinkle, like sand falling on tin. falls on pool and she sits, waiting before preserving her book and retreating.

he: mid-20s, short maybe slavic -- black hair and eyes, pot belly, lots of hair all over. sleeps in old boxers -- holes in them -- same ones he wears for days. sleeps on stomach, thumb in mouth just slightly, drooling on wrinkled flowered sheets and wrinkled flowered pillowcases. the tip of his penis peeks through the hole in his boxers. sleeps diagonally on bed, no comforter, sheets tangled in his feet.

You know you want some.

i've started again. no, i'm not talking the bloody stuff, though yeah, that too, but i've started writing again. sorta. that's what this is for because i really don't know what to write; i just know i need to. you don't care if i suck right? and i don't care if you care or don't -- there, i'm sticking my tongue out at you. but i can't find my writing notebook (no, i haven't been keeping it with me, i know -- i suck. shut up) and i had some really good story ideas in there. i'll tear up the bedroom later. this is good for now. i've made my introductions.