dreaming is ruining my appetite for sleep

he didn't know I was there until the very last second

I watched the clock today with the intensity of a dysfunctional bird trapped in a beige-tone plastic coated cage. The sale descriptions on the boxes for latex underwear have the closing line, feel the forbidden sensuality of its stretchy caress. I wondered briefly, when I noticed, if that’s a technical term, because why else would anyone be attracted to the term stretchy caress? This is the same store that sells an item named someone’s Salsa Pussy. Every one of these tawdry products was made by people. Multiple people. There were entire meetings and production facilities and conversations at three in the morning involving asset pitches to different time zones. Whenever I think of people bringing home a product as banal as Inflatable Fat Fanny, something shrivels inside my glands. My conclusion is that working in this love shop is strange and deadens my soul to random desire like hammered lead. People ask if anyone ever buys some of of our more extremely large dildos and I tell them to look it up on-line. Every toy in the store is likely in a video somewhere, and no, women can’t use that, our bone structure won’t allow for it, suckers. Take that. All twenty by nine inches of it.

then I told him to point the gun at me

A highlight of the day was sitting alone and writing in my black book, my feet on the counter between the tiny packets of silicone lube and the love dice, (place and position), while the other employees went to point at Al Pacino across the street. They were thrilled, but my personal moment of well being came from hearing R.C. on the radio orating poetry like the rumbling of a chop-top hotrod with candy pinstripe detailing just over some mythical hill of mocking english majors. It was like a light of sanity in the new glo-in-the-darkness. Right, I thought. I know this man. This wonderful intelligent man. I know him enough to want to hug him when I say hello. Suddenly my life wasn’t as bad as reading a magazine in a waiting room. It had been upgraded to sitting like a mannequin on stage, listening for my next line, remembering that I’m scheduled to be human soon.

Flirting with me was a slight fantasy about going trick or treating. Putting a sheet over my head with holes cut out and hitting up all my friend’s houses. If I had a vehicle, I might have done it. Gathered my courage and knocked on doors to say “Trick or treat, I haven’t seen you in awhile. Happy birthday in case I missed it. Do you have chocolate? I’m hoping for chocolate.” then laughed and hugged them, pulled them close to kiss them on the cheek. I could have dragged as many people as possible over to Main and fourteenth for the maze and fright houses set up by the local gods of spooky and collected treasure heaps of candy to live off of for the next few months. (For a sugar hound, I have an admirable habit left over from a dirt poor childhood of hoarding my rare and precious sweets.) From all reports, it’s not like the local kids went out to brave the neighborhoods for candy. I suppose I should have stood up to my psyche and run with it. Ah well, regrets and hindsight. The movie was pleasant enough and the company comforting. Graham came as some sort of proto-goth, Beth was a string fairy, Herminia was a preppy, and Eugene might have come as a straight boy. I couldn’t tell.

hiding in front of everyone

The Mask
Originally uploaded by MemoryMotel.

I checked because I knew I would have been written to. An entire paragraph was there this time, a little window of wondering about. Wandering about. A room full of people and a small commiseration. I remember this. Lying down together. I remember and hands. Glass as an element, as a metaphor, as something to see through, something that the eyes read, something that allows us to see outside when we are within walls.

I met with my friend Andrew this afternoon before breakfast with Ryan, and he gave me a tour around his area of the university. It felt like a treat. He’s lovely company and I think I might have visibly drooled a little while scanning the titles on his bookshelf. I’m looking forward to attending his lectures. I don’t get credits, but nor do I have to pay. A damned good deal, in my books. It’s my first time looking forward to school, though I admit being on campus feels irritatingly like hostile territory. These Are Not My People, This Is Not My World, E T and C. Academia’s foreign in ways that surpass language and delve directly into conditioning. I’m comfortable in an agora atmosphere, I was never wired for muted halls lined with lockers. I prefer to have words inside my head instead of on silky paper on my wall.

Calling on the Vancouver web: A soundproof space is required for the late afternoon and evening of November 18th. I’m told it’s for a student film about an alien abduction. The ideal space would be a grotty basement with a drain in the floor but privacy, accessibility, and that it’s okay to scream are the most important. They’re willing to rent, but the most they could afford is $100.

bringing me music that doesn’t require a computer would also be a bonus, thanks

Korean Movie Monday is being held tonight at my house.

Come one, come all, bring somebody interesting.

Drop me a line at six oh for, three to one, poem for directions. I’m two blocks up from the Waldorf and the window with the painted x-rays.

This week’s showing is to be of Oldboy, the second in Chan-wook Park’s incredibly sexy revenge trilogy.

Plus, the Celebration of Light begins this week.

2005 Dates: July 27, July 30, August 3, August 6.

Let’s plan for this people, let’s get ourselves a party.