forty dollars. fourteen more than i expected- i better get my fill. no t.v. stare at the refrigerator. here i go- the two men undress me through secret video. "what is she doing?" ..."it seems we've got a writer".

she takes her top off, revealing the shoulders of her dress- nothing interesting to see here. tattoos- indescribable. here comes the romance. she stares at the notepad. "milner hotels", red pen. perfect angle. "this is no hotel," she thinks... but the stay comes with a free breakfast at dunkin donuts. what is time to reveal?

forgot to blow the coke. inhale the coke. turn off my umbilical cord. time for - yeah.

on my knees. leaning on the brown silk comforter- i'm going to blow it all and go fucking nuts.

the television- it was right above my head. oh drear! salvation! gotta take a shit. what's that sound? still drunk. forgot to blow that fucking line.

sit on the toilet. the shit barely touched black underwear. who's to impress? undress. white bathroom soon tainted with shit and precious ash memories of smoking. and i still protect my flesh from herpes and friends with endless sheets of 2-ply. this is for emily- no. jon. no! emily. sanitized for my protection.

i feel like i just got laid. i am not even worth this. where is my vibrator? save it for later. the bathtub is a brilliant ashtray and my knee highs are from paris, france. i can't feel or smell my shit. i look at it. there it is. what a lazy commode.

i still search for the secret surveillance that "60 minutes" frightend america with so many times in the mid-nineties. no holes in the fucking walls. but i'm not looking. just guessing. maybe there are. time to masturbate. but first write. more coke. leave the picture of me and meredith in the bathroom- on the floor- clean.

(come on you fucking fag! we are late for the prom!)

naked with light-baby-blue-push-up- front-closure-bra. parisian stockings. black chipped nail polish. burgandy fake shiny penny loafers.

(i'm going as fast as i can! my stinger is hard and horny!)

what happened to the line? it's 3:30. or four. i don't care anymore. i chopped it all up- still hear the cars passing- grit grit! grind grind! there's a solution in every line.

before- i was going much faster. now it all adds up- my god i feel fat. throw up.

no.

turn the fan back on- it turns off the noise. frees me from the world. my god, i'm a flake! i'm a hippy! conservative! ha! witty. wimpy. timeless.

hunt for the remote control. it's with the bible somewhere- just not here. roseanne. perfect. "i can't afford you anymore- now get out!" excuse me, mister. come on- "i think he's passed out". oh my god he's dead. check his pulse. i know how to count to zero, okay. he's dead. laugh! everyone laugh! hahahahha! "i'm gonna make a salad"

the guest has no name. is he dead? he shouldn't have been here in the first place. rump roast. we're talkin' about 8-9 hours of paperwork.

i should be fucking you in these white sheets my pelvis is hungry for motion. where's my vibrator? naw. there's a clock on the microwave. this is a room for a drunk or a stoner. where's my fuck?

who died? some guy with no name. they all seem so young. they want your money. he's in the kitchen. the kids are right. go take a peak!! no.

i hate my reflection. hump the bed. bite my figner tips. my god i need it. i paid for this. if we would have had sex like i wanted to, none of this would have ever happened.

smirk. i'm about to fuck myself. then blow coke. then write. then smoke. _____________. step by step. now i'm more confused. i'll take it- i don't need the extended warrant. nice work, nice work. where's my man? where's my SUV?! somebody's watching. somebody. perverted security guard. here's my slit. here's sex. stain the sheets... i'm a girl. we don't do that so much. but i'm all wet. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. wait. no ... fuck. i'm a star. this is my work. here i go. kick ass at the butterfly- i'm so good 'cause i'm writing still. roseanne is a bitch.

it took an hour. two episodes. one dead guy. a group of pissed off feminists. exhale. oh my. prolonged the orgasm forever. rush of blood to my head. my mantra goes: oh oh oh! my moisture still glows- i feel the pulse between my lips. pink throbbing sex.

my nose is clean- time for more. suddenly i'm not drunk. feels like morning. merely 5:01 AM.

they all turn into infomercials. one movie about a woman who can't stand up for herself. wait- no. it's matlock. keep it there.

everything is quiet now because my pant-turned-moans have ceased.

"there are three things you can count on in life- debt, taxes, and cable rate increases... best of all! ... you get your favorite local channels..."

wouldn't you like me to take a shower? lie about my alibi. let them in.

the man's laughter is creepy. 5:14 AM. still sweaty from the bed mess.

richard hell once or twice wrote about dirty motel rooms. drugs. lovers. i've got a memory to share with him... a few.

2 being chirping birds and mindless television sitcoms.

history books will never tell the truth. they aren't made for it. -but i am. and so is matlock. how christ-like of us. together.

me, roseanne, richard hell, and matlock.

i should take a shower. i turn the heat up to warm this dismal cave like a sauna. consider masturbation- i've gotta take a shit. gotta value things coming out my asshole. bring a smoke, leave the pen. i've got a headache coming on.

!ROOM 108! nothing comes out, go back to the infomercial. infomercial. my reflection in the mirror turns into a secret. a stranger with candy. 11 AM is check out. what will i do? i should finger myself. at the moment i am leaving, i'll get wet in the shower and go a line. smoke, get a coffee.

the picture of me and the girl waits on the floor in the bathroom. stair stepper screams from the television screen.

let it fucking flow ohoh.

i find comfort in the siamese twins on the discovery health channel. free t.v.

the two ugliest men i have ever seen- seperate glasses, same belly button. oh, i could never!

1950's melodrama... "chained for life".

i need to view. seems worthy.

what a nasty sexual display. i'm sure he touches the other in his sleep. practices cpr for when his chained brother is choking. how provoking.

white. middle-aged. upper middle class. credit card debt. soccer matches. register to vote, now! call now! free information! financial freedom! 3000 dollars! the silver care plan is cheaper for those without liver disease. die.

die.

i'm gonna blow some more cocaine now. my stomach grumbles. i'm gonna have to leave sooner than i thought. but no! the cigarettes can burn slower and the water turns into golden, small sips.

...there's always red bull.

and call, click, connect! phone lines. nude shits in the white bathroom. woah! freak baby twins! sharing brain tissue. top of the skull. i'd rather fucking die.

you look smart, MR PHD. nice red bow tie.

you never get head, do you?

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