muckrakerrasure

i go about the day with tin claws,
scuttling along tile .



i am so much living, but i donot understand  it.
i have nothing to offer  you  but  my  bones.  
my prominent collar bones  shadowed by street lamps.    you can kiss them if you like.
i can offer you  my warm skin.
  it may stick to yours.

i may offer you my beating heart in a dark silvered  room,
to protect you from the loneliness of  damp sirens,
wail off into the night like loose demons.
. 

i offer you the fragile things that are mine    for which i have no explanations of their initiation.
i offer to you the things i am made with.

the smell of wet road and bark.

we laid in the street at three am in my neighborhood    while it rained  on our faces.

i went to the woods today.
i bought an outfit and two pairs of socks from a thrift store for three dollars and twenty cents.

besides working and writing,

(whilst wandering about  in the woods, i sat on a bench because i loved the pale light coming through the trees that shown right on that very spot) 
i  was  communicating via phone text message with a girl i do not know but there is something strange and interesting about her.
she wrote me a letter sometime ago  that said she was drawn to me .    i reciprocate  an odd electricity.

i think i love new and exciting situations.
and i am addicted to bizarre things and relationships.
i love things that are not predictable and peculiar.

something has happened  !  i don't care about long term love  lately.  i care only  about shared  instances  and  a  type of bizarre connection.

(i'm sure i will change my mind at some point.
   dragging  night  droplet.   a spring pollen,
inevitably must  reach another destination  ..  )

i have to work tonight. and i am a closer. this means i won't be off until midnight.    and my feet will throb and my back will ache,
and my smile will be cracked and bobbling and suspended.

 a sharp entry before work :

i'm working at a new restaurant--- where my co-workers are,
delightfully trashy  and loud and (ph) fat.

they keep my observing mind very busy.     i am beginning the saving process,   ( ! )
planning a small tour,  working diligently on this demo,
and looking at three different record labels.

i've devoloped (since this ankle injury )  a strange phobia of bloodclots and i am seriously a hypochondriac.

oh oh oh ohhhh.  oh and i am very interested in quarks and would like to read more information about them.
and and

what else ? 

the weather is very balmy here. i'm supposing from the hurricane down south.   (what? gas prices ? oil refineries destroyed?)
i don't have time to read much news.

and the bird,
sits perched on the roof.
  light winds drag  the shadows of  puffed popcorn clouds,
across the strawcolored corn  fields.



 chimes bangling outside my mothers door.

i need the time to write ! tomorrow morn .

a brilliant painter !     made a live journal.    he is a very beautiful gay man .


his user name: angel_painter78 

oh. yeahh.   i've been getting high a lot lately  'having esurient eyes of avid curiousity'
and watching meteor showers all over the world     on youtube.
and then i have  panic attacks looking at the milky way galaxy--- and thinking of my relative size.  
i think to myself oh my god something made this. and what am i supposed to be doing here? ( the sentience of an  egotistical statement  i  do  scantly understand.)    
i know i aint nothin but a pile of organs that barely realizes it's own consciousness.

(meanwhile sipping an applejuice box)
i've decided i think i want to move west.  i need to see mountains. i need waterfalls. i need air.  i need something that appears free.

----------------------------


i'm grateful for my health and youth today  so that i may dream    and can only  hope that it will return tomorrow.

on a side note:  (something that has been curling my guts  like paper in a fire )      
i wish to feel  something like love ? i think, today ?     and  the feeling clings to my aura like hairy magnet scraps.

is there a such thing as mutual love ?   for the love pessimist, the ballad of the sad cafe seems a type of gospel.

this is the most i can conjur for the morning.


i start a new job today.  i start a new job today.   

i start a new page.


good day.

]







deee--nt.

why is there a fucking advertisent on my livejournal now ? 





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 endless dots.