Monday, April 28, 2003

I Know A Girl From Rhode Island

me: What makes you say that?

her: Because... you're beautiful and you don't know it. Because you're smart and you don't believe it. You're the kind of girl that guys never get over. Norm, you're the kind of girl that other girls get compared to.

Wednesday, April 23, 2003

Say Hi To God For Me, Guys

my sneakers have gotten the funk.

which means, the time has come to finally send them to the big Shoe Rack in the sky.

it’s sad, really. no! shut up! it is!

they’re my Purcell's. i have had them many, many months. we’ve gone to many, many shows together. we’ve tooled the streets of many great Southern San Diegan streets.

and as any good converse-wearing person, it’s mandated you wear them ‘til they are so torn and worn so thin you can feel the hot, tarred pavement through the bottom of the soles on a sultry spring day. that and well, you wear ‘em ‘til they develop their own odor personality.

i know. just say it.

you totally want to date me.

Wednesday, April 16, 2003

Phone Buddies, Huh?

sometimes, when you're sure you've lost a friend and everything is simply cordial, life throws you a lemon.

how does this work, E? secret friends? or frenemies (I recently heard this term on NPR...)? eitherway, bring on the lemonade.

Wednesday, April 9, 2003

Still Gone

"stop the bus! i want to be lonely. the seconds pass slowly and years go flying by. you gotta stop the bus, and get off here. enough's enough, and i'm leaving this factory..."

embarrassed by liking this sticky lyric by Ben Folds. just like 'skipping the light fantastic out of town,' it strikes me with blue collar poetry of a humming, dull head re-evaluating repetition over and over again.

and the same again, i need something to tap me on the corner, and lift the weight of the world off of my shoulders. invisible, yet brilliantly loud. i need that something.

Thursday, April 3, 2003


you bit your nails again,
you can't light matches anymore, you
complain about the weather and
how you are so sore, and
i hate you.
amazing, you're so well rehearsed
on every single verse, with
nothing but a metallic smile to
show me how you don't feel
at all.
you look so tired,
i spit caffeine into your veins
and try to help but
all my arteries are on the wrong
side of my skin

Wednesday, April 2, 2003

I need to write this word everywhere. Down the spine of the telephone handle. Inside my wrists. On the lens of my glasses.

I need to write this word everywhere. Down the spine of the telephone handle. Inside my wrists. On the lens of my glasses.

It's just that the other word, Forgiveness, isn't always sure to follow.

Somedays, I don't think anyone deserves any sort of human-to-human vulnerability.

These are the days I feel flattest.