novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- beautiful my mother has to get an MRI. they have to rule out surgery. my mother is sick and this fucks with the natural law of my immediate family only slightly. dad still gets served and watches the sports channel while he eats. grandma still barks into the phone. dust still cakes everything, even my mother's pet cockatoo. she complains more, bubbles less, and at times can be heard emitting strange, inhuman sounds whenever the spasms bring too much pain. i want to fix her but i can't so i just keep refilling her diet coke and taking out the garbage.
now i'm back here, in my tiny apartment, watching movies that make me cry only slightly, guzzling tea and juice, falling asleep on a rotting bare futon after calling everyone i know, to get answering machine after answering machine. what sort of homecoming is this: i swear i saw elliott smith riding in a taxi next to me at fell street in san francisco. he looked clean shaven and nervous. or at least his doppleganger did. all i know is that i'll always feel transitory if i don't take the time to tie up all of my loose ends. fraying frazzled heart strings week old answering machine messages and unanswered emails. lame excuses and dirty dishes. i feel pulled in so many directions because i never really finish anything. but this is my last semester in college and my collection of half-marked to-do lists looks less appealing. i always want to go out with a bang. 9:17 pm - 09.06.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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