no one screams loud enough here. there is not half enough screaming.
if i had known what fucking you would mean, i would have done it anyway. and not just because i wouldn't have believed a single thing they said.
found out three important things today. everybody dies, i knew that one. some of us even get to find out when it's going to happen.
two men argued at the brocante today: do you even think before you open your mouth? one of them asked the other. typical french aggression. i don't want it anymore. not france, not their literature, nothing. i want rainer maria rilke and american whiskey, i want the kind of ice that freezes in california, i want to reach in and pull out the heavy blanket of death that rides in my chest, let its voluptuous folds hide my entire body up to my chin. coins on the eyes and ride out on the pacific. the doctor can't tell, but i'm so tired from hauling this death around, anyplace is good as the next
the soft tinkle of the shutter swinging shut over the peephole. you aren't there.
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