entering the lungs and holes, the breaths grow deep and hungry. the bedside manner of a three-year old pup in heat is more than i can bear, so just hang tight for the extraveganza. i can hear the radio--- it's the nineties. waiting for tomorrow with silverchair. the fleshy writer in belgium asks about people gagging my throat with their fingers, and i reply with yeah yeah yeah... he doesn't know how sick i am at the moment. and coughing. agh.

cockroaches have had it too good for too long. feces feces facades and fiction.

that's great news- i appreciate it.

take them to the park. i am falling tragically behind.

i have not had sex in nine months. hahhahahahahhahahah ahhahahahhah ah ah ah ah ah ha ha hahahhahahaha ha. skin is in. alone on valentine's- again. i'm going out for the rest of the afternoon. out on the swing. out of my head. out in the yard, just not so out that everyone says i'm a dyke or that i am driving and drinking... that's way out. that's 'friday nite' out.

important questions:

what do i like to eat? what is my favorite color? where would i like to live? do i have any 'musts'? do i want children? am i concerned with my lifestyle? do i enjoy my appearances? there. i am done already. i'm an editor without a paper. i am research without a topic and sex sells.

do you find it difficult? are you searching for something... just delivered in a different way? simple, huh? i know what we need.

all of these are questions and they are all floating in my head. bouncing into 'twice as nice' and 'satisfaction guaranteed'.