Monday, September 30, 2013
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
a story by A & L
The sun blazed overhead as I walked down Towne Ave towards 7-11, (not that I had any money anyway, I could bum some coffee off the manager) and disparaged over what a poster child for the slacker I was.
So I took to the asphalt, munching on a candy bar and contemplating my great purpose in life. I thought maybe life could get a little more interesting if I could figure out what it was all about. I studied the remaining bar carefully. It's smooth chocolate coating glistened slightly, rippled over a perfect formation of mellow, golden caramel blanketing sweet solid cookie. It's rich, delicately flavored taste danced and churned mellow in my mouth. (Okay, maybe it was grossly over sweetened, did the bar say chocolate, or chocolatey coating). At any rate, most call it a twix, I call it the best goddamned trip I'd ever been on.
But back to 7-11, the manager had been out and the worker foreign (foreign as in unknown, not some chump with an accent). So I was not successful in getting my coffee. That was not good in my opinion as coffee is the essence of life. My life at least. What an awful cliche, but at least I didn't smoke.
Yeah. Smoke what? I couldn't remember. I decided to steal a car. It was meant to be. The tape in the deck was an old Iron Clitoris tape. Feminazi Riot Grrrl wasn't exactly my #1, but right now it felt good to pound along to. Me and the car (I christened her CAMELIA with the tap water I kept in an old Evian bottle) hit the highway. I swear we had a collision with the sunset. It caught me and the car on fire somewhere around Lone Pine.
Such a lonely Twin Peaks-esque town with dark secrets hidden from the average tourist. Just the year before I had read about some girl killing her boyfriend over a log, and now I was stuck here STRANDED! I decided to look around, after all this twisted locale would be my home until I could get a repair person to venture up and fix my car.
Okay, so I decided to cloud watch, but that got old, plus its only fun with others, and Camelia didn't have opinions, besides, she was in a coma. Cars are so helpless. I decided to take the great exploration of my pockets, a dangerous mission only the bravest (or the truly desperate, as in my condition) venture. I found: a matchbook, a postcard from '88, a razor, 3 black buttons, used Kleenex and a carrot.
The buttons were of no use, but the matchbook had the address of the punk girl band my best friend's girl friend played for.
Sometime around that thought I fell asleep. Dawn arose, pearly and fresh and all that shit, but the loveliness was wasted on my. I had a lapful of bird shit and my pants were wet.
So I took to the asphalt, munching on a candy bar and contemplating my great purpose in life. I thought maybe life could get a little more interesting if I could figure out what it was all about. I studied the remaining bar carefully. It's smooth chocolate coating glistened slightly, rippled over a perfect formation of mellow, golden caramel blanketing sweet solid cookie. It's rich, delicately flavored taste danced and churned mellow in my mouth. (Okay, maybe it was grossly over sweetened, did the bar say chocolate, or chocolatey coating). At any rate, most call it a twix, I call it the best goddamned trip I'd ever been on.
But back to 7-11, the manager had been out and the worker foreign (foreign as in unknown, not some chump with an accent). So I was not successful in getting my coffee. That was not good in my opinion as coffee is the essence of life. My life at least. What an awful cliche, but at least I didn't smoke.
Yeah. Smoke what? I couldn't remember. I decided to steal a car. It was meant to be. The tape in the deck was an old Iron Clitoris tape. Feminazi Riot Grrrl wasn't exactly my #1, but right now it felt good to pound along to. Me and the car (I christened her CAMELIA with the tap water I kept in an old Evian bottle) hit the highway. I swear we had a collision with the sunset. It caught me and the car on fire somewhere around Lone Pine.
Such a lonely Twin Peaks-esque town with dark secrets hidden from the average tourist. Just the year before I had read about some girl killing her boyfriend over a log, and now I was stuck here STRANDED! I decided to look around, after all this twisted locale would be my home until I could get a repair person to venture up and fix my car.
Okay, so I decided to cloud watch, but that got old, plus its only fun with others, and Camelia didn't have opinions, besides, she was in a coma. Cars are so helpless. I decided to take the great exploration of my pockets, a dangerous mission only the bravest (or the truly desperate, as in my condition) venture. I found: a matchbook, a postcard from '88, a razor, 3 black buttons, used Kleenex and a carrot.
The buttons were of no use, but the matchbook had the address of the punk girl band my best friend's girl friend played for.
Sometime around that thought I fell asleep. Dawn arose, pearly and fresh and all that shit, but the loveliness was wasted on my. I had a lapful of bird shit and my pants were wet.
1995(?)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
We are for . . .
* vexation
*capes and cravats
*amateurism and punk rock
*homemade, badly made and well made
*tea and tea houses
*extending the dollar
*cheap thrills
*hanging out in cars & driveways & curbs
*stuff on the ground
*trespassing and loitering
*air quotes
*conspicuous adornment
*petty crime
*crinolines and net skirts
*mom
We are against . . .
*white violence
*life plans
*hegemony of taste
*cocaine
*purely decorative pockets
*Mike
*weenies
*designer drugs
*everyone else's propaganda
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