Elonzo sighed and let his shoulders go.

'It's not the time for that,' he thought.
Suzy brushed her index fingers lightly across his eyelids and Elonzo let his ribcage loosen out. No way would he look at her. No way would he engage with her unlearned, suburban face.

As he exhaled, he whisked his keys from the square pocket of his army coat and left.

Broken, running like a dud.
Slower than I've gone before but treading easily.
No drugs, no bottle
Nothing chemical to coddle
Even and learning
Leaning on my schedule
But if home is where the heart is
then I'd probably push the pedal of my Honda on the mat.


"So what's going on now, Lucy? You gotta talk about it?"

"Not really. It's just like--well, you know when you're kinda like, you left your drink there for too long and it gets warm?"

"Uh. . . yeah. That's gross, also."

"Well it's like that, except I'm not the drink. I'm the room temperature and I just keep warming your drink up."

"Ok. That makes no sense at all. But go on."

"I just can't stop. I mean, it's natural for me. This is how I am. And they want me to be cold like them. But I'm not cold. I'm like THIS."

"Ok. So who is the "They"?"

"You know. Them. All of them. All of them out there. The ones sitting. Watching TV. Gaming. Staring at you and forcing you to talk to them and being all nice to you but living in this mess."

"Sounds like there's a lot of them."

"No. There's not that many. Only about four or so. And that doesn't sound like a lot. But four against one is a LOT."

"Do they ever come at you all at once?"

"Sometimes..."

"Don't you just want to kick them?"

"You can't just KICK them Lindsay. I mean if I went around kicking them then I'd be just like them. I am not like them."

"You're not?"

"No. Remember that."

"Okay."

"Lindsay?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever get nosebleeds?"

Dear life,

Let us do this together. There are one million miles for that many trials. The fit ones will win and the sinners shoot short. That still doesn't trust who my cohort is.

Faithful, dopey, goof and shy
The word of the wall is once and again

I finished my mixtape. I'll post it tomorrow

Dear screwed-up diary,

I'm rationalizing every negative thought that's erupting from my analyses but I really just want to nurse the ones made of self-loathing and lament.
But more than that I don't want to go there.

Regret is a poorly lit warm room that provides a serious contrast to the cold world out there. And I don't want to get sucked into that inviting settlement. Ditch. Twisted ad.

Yesterday I was a raven who went for it. By establishing a destination and making it, I felt equal parts liberated, wistful, and alone but alive.

I picked up a few books at the Berkeley Half Price. Namely Industrial Evolution: Through the eighties with Cabaret Voltaire. The introduction and back cover summary together lead me to believe that it's a book about a college guy who goes with his likes despite their uncertainty about future (financial, romantic, vital) security. He works difficult jobs via a temp agency and goes to school, at night making time for booze in bars, amphetamines, and music.

Between Industrial Evolution and Just Kids, I'm feeling a sick, wrong longing for my lost city life.