phoolsfire

the conclusion is the easy part...that's the bit that comes at the end, right? there's certainly a bit of acomplishment with completing that bit. which is why it's a good rule to di it first, you know, to start out on a good note.
pbr is filtered donkey piss. cheep filtered donkey piss, but donkey piss nonetheless. no offense if that happens to be yr drink of choice. i cant stand beer. i'm sure if i drank more of it i would build up a tolerance, but it seems a bit pointless, you know?
i can dig on wine coolers, zima, and sky blue all day long. though they work best as chasers. mmm--vodka and zima. i'm a pussy that way. i dont like the image of beer, either. the ads and such.
the weird thing about the side of the breast is...well, i'm not really a tit guy....er...though...come to think of it, i've been on a chicken nugget jag for the past month or so--you might be onto something.
"i was thinking of buying all my family members assult weapons of some sort, just to get rid of the empty threats." brilliant, absolutely brilliant.
and a gps will prevent me from getting lost. i got me a map today, J gave me one. it's of peoria and some surrounding areas. not as far as bloomington, though.
what does proofreading entail, exactly? i've been asked to do it a number of times, but i never know what to look for. is it just for grammar and spelling and such, or is there a fact checking element involved?
this post is getting kinda long, but i wanna say a whole lot more. not in a "Forgive me father, for i have sined" type of way. more like, "So me and Jimmy, right, we juss started wingin rocks at this cow, right, and this cow, he's juss standin there, like, all mooin at us and shit..." type of thing. like a story or something interesting. like a Kerouac thing. like, "Mugging people for photos is an odd way to do photography. Mugging anyone for anything is kind of rough, but people have a certain amount of hesitancy when it comes to a stranger taking their photo.
Going up to a person on the street and shoving a camera in their face, saying, Do you mind? Doesnt work. People then think you want them to take a picture of you. Then saying, No, no, one of you. Is a dangerous thing. People automatically want to know what for.
What for?
Paraphernalia. Hit list. Im with the CIA. Im a P.I. Just for practice.
What are you gonna do with the picture?
Jack off to it. Post it on the net. Tell people youre my friend. Im a lonely, pathetic person. Nothing, really. I just need to build a portfolio.
Why me?
In this lite, I can see your tits thru your shirt. Youve got food in your teeth. Your head is misshapen. You truly do look like a whore/redneck/psycho/celebrity. I dunno. You seem different. Do you mind?
This isnt as easy as it seems. Guys think Im hitting on them and I get called a variety of names. Women think Im hitting on them and I get called a pervert. I usually get a flat out no, but every once in a while I get a, dont talk to me. "
am i up to a page yet? my goal, is to make you stop reading the post before i'm done writing it. it's a game! like connect four.
"I used to be a racist. Well, not a racist consciously, more of a vicarious racist. I mean, I dunno what it means, but right now it sounds better then it probably should. Maybe I should explain deeper.
When I was around five or so, I heard a friend of my fathers say the word nigger. Being but five I had no idea what was meant by the word. Going by the reaction of the others present, I figured it was something big.
My mother kind of gave my father a glare and my father told his friend, Not around the kid.
It was like the magazines I was told to ignore and the channels I was asked never to watch. It was said, it was there, it was now all I was interested in. I used it around my friends. We would gather in a little profane circle-jerks and reveal all the bad words we knew at that point. Mine, it seemed, was the best.
And so it went.
A few days later my mother heard me calling one of my friends a nigger and I was promptly pulled aside; grounded and lectured.
She said, Thats a word that you shouldnt ever use, EVER. Its a word of hate and ignorance""
I'm getting a bit tired. i should actually update my journal, i have notes that need transcribed and posted. my usual superficial dribble. but i'm not sure you've quit yet...so i'll do one more...this one's a long one........
And I say, "It's in, like, two minutes. I gotta be there in two minutes."
Josh shrugs and continues to grind the brass looking tube into the bottom of the black, plastic 35mm film container. He says, "So?" and he lights his little plastic lighter and holds it to one end of the brass tube, sucking on other. He sucks and he sucks, and his head flies back, and he's coughing raw coughs that make you think his lungs are on the way.
Josh is wrapped in a dirty-tan duvet. He has one foot sitting on the cushion of his recliner; his knee slumped, resting against the arm on the chair. His other foot is hanging out of the bundle and over the side, sitting on the floorhe stomps it as he coughs. Mid-cough he says, So?
I lean forward and tap the tips of my shoes, rhythmically, with my fingers. The two cats, Siamese, crouch down and watch me like rabbits that just heard something. Their eyes are full black with little edges of fluorescent blue.
"So," I say, "so...so..."
"So," Josh says.
And I say, "So, so, so."
He says, "You wanna hit?"
I sigh and look at the wall clock. I say, "Im serious, I gotta be at work in two minutes." I look at Martin, and he shrugs. I look back at Josh, and I say, "So...sure."
He nods and hands me the hitter. I grab for my Zippo on the table, and Josh says, "You'll burn out my resin," and tosses me his little plastic lighter.
I nod and light up, inhale, hold, inhale, hold, inhale, hold. I'm expecting my lungs to explode, Im expecting my eye to pop out of my head, Im expecting something, but nothing comes. A tickle maybe, but nothing else. I release half the blast and light, inhale and hold again. And again. And again. And again. And I say, "You were gagging on this?"
And Martin laughs.
And Josh says, "Fuck off, I just got up, I havent even had a cigarette yet."
I nod and hand the hitter to Martin, who puts it in the ashtray.
I look at the clock again, it says 2:50 and I stand up. I pick up the change that fell out of my pocket and say, "This was fun, I say, but I gotta go to work."
And Josh says, "Hey, you know where I live now."
I shrug and ask Martin, Ready?

A half-hour into working, my body starts tingling and the shadows come alive. Im standing, staring at mannequin of a little girl wearing a bikini; with her underdeveloped tits staring back at me, I know if Im caught looking this hard, Ill be fired.
I work at a posh department store with Martinwere the janitors.
Six hundred dollars for a shit-brown suit jacket on the second floor. Also on the second floor are muscular male-model mannequins, headless, sporting the latest in Ghetto Chicthug life in the suburbs.
The carpet-island to the left of Ghetto mannequins are the six hundred dollar jackets, and the hundred and twenty dollar dress shirts that come in six different shades of the same color blue. The island in front of that is the yuppie accessories: expensive ties and dead cow belts, watches that have modes and functions that normal folks dont needlike multiple time zones and ultra-super deep-sea diving depths.
Next to the accessories, the island in front of the thuggish statues, is the boys apparelT-shirts with action figures and catch phrases.
The island next to that is boys and girls swimwear. In each of the corners there are little white monster mannequins, ones where the faces are stretched and bent, and the kids have sloppy yellow hair and goofy blue eyestheyre petting a deformed pastel dog. Above the dressing rooms are normal looking kid mannequins. The girl mannequin is wearing a blue two-piece, and you can see two pill-sized nipples poking out thru the material.
Im standing stoned in the doorway of the dressing room, pressing my arm, hard, against one of the walls. Im staring and counting. When I get to sixty I take a step back and relax my armit floats up and hits the swastika shaped clothes rack, knocking a tiny blue bikini onto the floor.
I pick it up and its the exact same as the one the girl mannequin is wearing. I blink a couple of times and read the tag. It says that its a nylon blend. I stand blank for a second, then shed my aqua coloured vest with the name of the janitorial companyKapicoembroidered into the left breast. I turn it so that I can look at the tag, it says that its a poly-cotton blend.

Later, my mouth began to dry-water, and I started craving LifeSavers. I remembered seeing LifeSavers in one of the vending machines, but they were 65. I had the change, but I didnt want to spend it, not on something Id chomp thru like crackers. I wanted something vivid, something that would lastI wanted Jolly Ranchers.
Jolly Ranchersbloody ChristJolly Ranchers. Grape and watermelon, thats what I wantedand peach. This one secretary, Cheri, has Jolly Ranchers. She has em, but most of the time she keeps them hidden. Just to be safe, I thought, I might want to get something else.
Terri, a fellow janitor, walks by and I ask, "What kind of candy you got in your area?" She works on the third floor where they hide the yuppies, secretaries and other business-types.
She shrugs and thinks for a second. She shrugs again and says, "Milky Ways, Twinkies, gum...stuff. I havent been up there yet, so..."
"So, so, so," I said. I say, "I need something to suck on."
Terri laughs and says, "I got a couple of things you can suck on."
I nod, "Of course you do," I say.

At 4-ish I go out for a cigarette and get caught off guard by some girl. She was talking on a cell phone, and I remember thinking that she had a voice like yours. Then I remembered thinking once that I saw someone that looked like you. I remember thinking that I should go up and tell her who she looked like, but decided not towhy should she care, I thought. I was thinking about that, and then I thought that maybe it wasnt me who had thought that originally. Maybe someone else had said it, and I heard it, and it all-of-a-sudden applied.

My boss came out and began talking to me, but I didnt hear him; I was still considering my complete lack of original thought.
"...pearl necklace," my boss, James, said while pointing at the blue beads poking out from around my neck.
"Nah," I say, "It's fake...they're blue."
"What?"
I shook my head, "It's...I wasn't listening."
He says, "I said, Is that a woman's pearl necklace? "
I say, "It's blue...fakethey're beads, not pearls."
And he says, "But it's a woman's necklace."
I say, "They're beads..."
"But," he says, "It's for women."
I shake my head and say, "Im wearing them, so no."
James stares at me with a blank look, then says, But, th
I interrupt him with, "They're just temporary, for a week or so."
He asks, "You know what's not temporary?"
I shake my head and he says, "Being fired."
And I nod and say; "They're tucked in."
And he shakes his head and says, "What's on your fucking arm?"
I look at my arm and say, " Eleven strikes, three eyes, and a weird, funky ferret thingy."
James shakes his head and says, "Man, you're just looking to ge"
And I interrupt again. I pull down the collar of my T-shirt and show him my collarbone. On it, is 666. I say, "I have it written seven times on my body, guess where?"
"You know," he says, but doesnt get the chance to finish; I say, "It's a fucking Sunday, no one's here. I throw my cigarette onto the sidewalk and say, Itll all be gone by Monday. If it's not, bitch at me then."
He says fine, but then says, "If Chris comes by and sees it, you'll be gone by Monday."
I shrug; "If Chris comes by, Ill hide in a broom closet."
And he laughs, and says, "Me too." He says, Save me a spot. He says, What left do you have to do?"
And I shrug and say, "Not muchjust gotta find some Jolly Ranchers.
fuck, did i win?