lyris

The moon is covered in rust and blood. The moon is hot iron. I pretend I'm sober while driving and insist I watch the road and not the moon, although she seems to come closer to me every moment. As though she is a product of man, a landmark, huge and gaudy, she grows and rises, her curves become more defined, her color more brilliant as the highway snakes into her. I turn on the cruise control so that my speed, which has been fluctuating, does not rely on the steadiness of my limbs. I stare back up at the moon.


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I fed some boys tonight. I ordered food but then I realized I wasn't hungry. There were six of them. I said "I'm not hungry, but I was pretty sure I could rely on six guys to consume my food." They said they weren't hungry either. So I put the plate on their table and they ate it anyway. One had an unfinished sleave on his right arm and facial hair I would roll my eyes at if I hadn't, as of late, started to look at every male like a starved lion would. I walked out of the restaurant kicking myself, like I usually do, for not having the balls to just ask. "Hey. So here's the deal. I want to hear all of your tattoo stories. Now. In exchange, you buy me a beer. I'm not going to give you anything, like a blowjob or whatever. I just want to know. And you'll tell me."


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brick is my new favorite movie.
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marlon brando in a streetcar named desire is the most attractive man on earth given any time frame.
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I am an incredible cook.
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I still do not like cats. but I miss Squee.
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nine months is not long enough to justify someone's name on your arm.
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stout is the best beer.
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