I did well selling even though the storm - but the two bimbos hacking for comedy zone night were grazing my skull, and the pedi-cabs couldn't sit anywhere else, and I got caught smoking one so I now KNOW I'm not allowed. And the hourly wage is really tight and I'm not yet.

Once this group of storms goes by I'm in there working on myself and looking around.

Laundry’s done.

Oh I have an idea about the bitch Tammy Shenkman - she's about minus, the "NEGATIVE" aspect (what with "t"), and she's this flat-chested complaining Yankee bitch that needs to get out of this hostel. And the lump of disgust sleeping in my room Robert from Jacksonville FL is here to write and waste everyone with his bare torso on his bed and his paperbacks. It’s about writing and "valuable assets" - so this is RWP residue.

Do you two owe me some cash or what? Is that why I found $100 on the street beside my shoe?

Oh and Richard has a Jack look to his face, mentions his ex "Megan" from "Big D" (knows that dumb elementary school song) and they speak of how pretty the bimbos are there. Richard's a little goofy too and to see that look at me like the dogs gone burrowing down. The whole thing that place is a lousy fuck that everyone has to talk about too long (or sing about).

Dumb ass Tammy had to rent "Mystic River" during the storm, tried to bitch up with the German boys, practically though she owned the English group, even though those boys like her sister.

And Shield turns out to be a real person not only an oncoming thought. He's nice although too talkative.

Well I'm ready to have the house to myself - so to say - and ready to work on my body and enjoy the new organization of my see-through stained glass power pentacle kit filled with clay paste, shimmer lights and Stella nova body wash.

The Bull and Finch they're so big on Cheers
that's teh place where it happened.

those girls weren't real or something

flat

please flat

space

please

and big sales and clear pretty skies

my hair is really nice but not for the bums and weirdos

later

[ 10-05-2004: Message edited by: Cacophonous ]

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stood behind this hot.. and i mean hot girl, bending over with tite white shorts, shana twain body.

went to the bathroom at the pizza shop and had to pull one off..

when I came out of the bathroom, i realized a guy i know was there and it turned out it this hot chick was his girl.

she introduced herself and i shook her hand.

Thanks for the feedback xan/outrider. I have done a few shot pieces like that one.

I have not had a chance to use hot knives in some time now. I wish I had a reason to use them. I keep running into a skunk though.

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And now I'm up from my nap.

The deeply black nigger just checked out, the sinister Jew from Jacksonville can't seem to leave still - and I have an interview with the polo & carriage company to do before I choose to move to Atlanta. Because really really it's the Harris Teeter stores here that say it all.

That purple Fanta went down fast. wewll I was lucky when I bussed back to Charleston they still had a bunk for me. I bought a week.

Do the interview. Be glad I didn't have a chance to pay for sex.

Fucking Sheri would be a nice squirt.
Bastian is her 'boyfriend'. Bastian has no idea how to dick up that pussy make it light and air.

That thing wooohnted me. they all hate Charleston. The other pretty thing ran away.

And 37.00.......

I tipped four.

that's for six cosmos. This isn't a taco stand. This is nuts not even.

nada, nichhe. neeenineee.

Dumb is what this is.

I wanted serious butt. I wanted screaming pussy - serious 8.5 thicky hit 'n' miss, really I've been regular about enzyte. I wanted that.

wanted that.

night.

I'm so Charleston not. Have a car or not. Be bitten so many times by giant steely sticked mosquitos you get a hundred bloody scabs, gag get me some air conditioning, an art gallery, another carriage company - the temp agency was totally sickening.

Dive-bombed the brunette, she's ever walking into me now. gots herself a shag and a cell. want the blonde on .com, no chat here. no room to myself anymore, can't do anything, hate hate hate hate.

jackiebeat's selling. I'm buying.

I want my own flat. I've cash for that - I have cash for that, but no job I quit cpcc it cee peed on me. Inbred bird twits...

dead wrens on the ground here in town. too many.

I'm here to write the book, to buy a car, and to get ready for the blah la la.

Have a tour.’

Meantime, I've been furnishing my imaginary apartment. So far, what have I bought?

1. traveling glockenspiel
2. twin black satin sheets
3. twin aero bed sharper image
4. black canopy netting, not the style with circular hoop
5. purple inflatable chair
4. purple inflatable sofa
5. white peacock feathers
6. white peacock mouse pad
7. purple leopard shower curtain w/ hooks
8. purple lighted wine and martini glasses - acrylic

Then there are the other ideas:
EBAY item number: 7105203212

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It's nice that times happen when it's ok to remember things that were what they were, in a good way.

I guess for a man who knew the opera "Tristan and Isolde" from beginning to end, I’m doing a right thing by going to this timeshare presentation today on my day off for $75 and a two day vacation to myrtle or Daytona beach. If they hire me later, I’ll get maybe 500-1000 per week, and so then I'll have the save I want.

In a few months I can pretend life is ok again. say I save up 10,000; I can move to Prague again and with a new pc, and have my things shipped, and rent the nice good flat where, and be happy, if Prague is ok.

They say they plan to build an opera house in Dallas that's called Win-spear, very much the same feeling of importance as that Myerson symphony center, but yet too important for Dallas while that wasn't.

Pretty ideas or pretty life people? South Carolina doesn't seem to be going to last, but I need the Charleston I tell myself to survive, to live, not to want or be wanted, to be free, but hopeful.

When it is ok to go to a concert I’d like, I wonder if what's there won't be. I'm not allowed. So that's not what to think about.

Prague. After many things saved for, planned and done, then away from this and that forever, only to look far back into time and find what's there for me.

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Is this the fault of an old gray man in outer space somewhere with no teeth? Are those guys really icky like aliens are? Can the aliens only get to us if they goo our brains? Why are girls named Audra? Why are fuzzy little bugs called asps in Dallas?

And why is it raining on my day off from working? I want to explore salons today and have my hair done. I want it white. My roots are longer than one inch - and there's hair on my legs, and I want to get better. The back of my hair looks longer but also fried; but once conditioned (GET OUT OF THAT BATHROOM YOU RUDE DORK) it's nice enough. Bug bites. scars to fade. Sun burns. Who can write anything under those conditions?

I hate Charleston South Carolina. But yet - I hate how stupid everything is when teamwork and group therapy is available. I hate not being happy but maybe I'll write when I get to. Did I not, the other day, write the first scene of Asterix? Maybe I'm moving before too long to Asheville, North Carolina in the Blue Ridge Mountains and renting an art-deco studio loft downtown and playing with the punk kids and making some music. Or L.A. Or NYC. But I won't get this published for a long time, and then it will take time for anything to know what it is, and by then...

I hate hateful writing.

Well ok I'm going for another job - and then once that happens it's time to buy the notebook (I'll live without the car a little).

And I can go to Atlanta or Miami and relocate follicles on a payment plan. OH hey maybe I should ask for work at the V fitness center and really break my body into something endurable. Yeah that's okay I'll see what's happening but it's raining today.

Or Bluegreen - I did win that poster, even though "megapixie" outbid me less than one minute before the sale closed.

No I'm not buying the dated mushroom stools - but I am buying the green glass paperweights. I got the posters. So I'm okay. But also, I'm cut off supposedly from family money, so I guess I won't be poor anymore.

[ 10-15-2004: Message edited by: Cacophonous ]

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It's insane but...

I don't need a car. Or a notebook (yet). And I don't need that but if I did, I could do that easily in Miami or Atlanta...

There's always sobehostel.com...

I could fly there, move in, they have rooms all through November, I could be serving banquets for $1200 every week, and live in a sobe studio art deco pink or blue...

get in the water be in shape be tan

write

ahhhhhh

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“I have noticed even people who claim everything is predestined, and that we can do nothing to change it, look before they cross the road.”

“Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change.”

I might not even be able to write anything that isn't rude and not know it at all.

At the present time I'm in transition; on a journey through a forbidding country with questionable hospitality. I've broken pounds of weight away, my face is scarred twice, and my idea isn't the same. I don't care to be fantastic, but reality is too poor. When I know more about all the work I want to do, I'll do my best not to allow everything else to give that any feeling.

It is good that her voice isn't suffering.

It might be that isn't really a fantastic possibility, but I don't care. Not always, not up or down being in the car on a drive not too tall. Art. Might have need.

Might.

Well Europe you know. Juice. I guess it's nice to know when it's been forgotten, given space and time.

Take care and good night.

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The apartment once looked clean and habitable, with its white walls and straight angles. It was this self-actualization that made me feel sick. The room as you enter is my living room, which is filled with various pieces of broken glass, one overturned ashtray, a half eaten pizza, and several copies of National Geographic strewn about in no particular fashion. I had a thing for the native women, of some far off godforsakenland, completely nude with sagging tits and an expression that looked more animal than human.

These women didn't know what it was like to have white teeth like my own. My mouth burns because I've left the 7 day strip in for over 2 weeks again. No pain no gain, I never did walk a mile in jesus christ's shoes but I reckon it would feel a lot like this.

Seems like you understand the character's logic.

His name is Jonathan Harris. I was going to register as that name but I hate logging out and in each time and surely I would screw up anyway.

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