the heart's a land of criminal intent...
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UPDATE: Random venting. I can’t wait to go to Hell.

Tired of being broke. Tired of people turning out to be someone else. I’m about to put French fries and a fucking weekly metro card on my fucking amazon wishlist. Fuck. Fuck fuck this. at least my agent promises to read everything i've sent her over the labor day weekend..........

“You could’ve just told me you were gay. It’s 2005. It’s not that controversial anymore. The straight ones are the weirdoes. Sometimes I think you just want a blowjob queen.”

It feels dark. Someone turn a light on. Quick.

Yesterday when I reached for a shot glass from the dish holder thingy an army of roaches marched out. I guess some hatched in the sticky shot glass. Normally I just drink straight out of the bottle. I guess I’ll go back to that. Anyway, it was a nightmare come true. It was like that movie Joe’s Apartment. When I was twelve a roach crawled in my ear and I almost died from it. I was rushed to the hospital with a fever of 105. The doctor stuck something in my ear that looked like a pair of tweezers and pulled the fucker out and showed it to me. Awesome. Being poor is so awesome. There’s always a bigger number of ways to die when you’re poor, too. How exciting. I really hope New Orleans is okay. "Civilized behaviour has been suspended." The world is lacking so much grace right now. That city is beautiful, I hope it doesn’t drown. I was thinking about all the people who had to sleep in the superdome. I wondered where all those cute homeless street musicians went to. I was fantasizing about being stuck there, in that romantic crumbling city of filth, in that superdome, getting molested by some hot street musician over in a flooded corner next to foldup chairs and bags of pork rhines, not noticing the roaches under my bouncing ass. Yum. Being poor can be awesome sometimes.
****i have a tendency to romanticize extremely fucked up situations. seriously, i hope everything and everyone there gets through this incredible devastation****
I hope my agent contacts me soon. It’s frustrating to feel so close to a big break and yet so far away.
Back to work, back to weirdness, back to crumbs of special light.

For those of you who dig it. Here’s more from “Demonic.” Night ya’ll.
***Marhollow***
My door flew open and three guys grabbed me.
“Get out, you fucking punk,” one said. Devon Pierce, the dumbest jock that ever lived. He always had it in for me. He could come off as straight as he wanted, win all the football games and bang all the young, hot cheerleaders, but his anger for me made him seem like a fag to me. He punched me in the stomach as the others held me up for him. I could hear Jesse screaming but I couldn’t see him. A couple of guys had him on the ground on the other side of my car. Devon cupped my chin with his hand to hold my face up.
“Such a baby faced punk,” he spat in my face. “God I wanna fuck you up so bad.”
“Devon!” Clyde called, standing up over Jesse. Jesse wasn’t screaming anymore. He wasn’t making any sound at all. I wondered if he was even still alive. All I saw were punches aimed at the ground. They didn’t take his glasses off before they started beating him in the face, either.
“Don’t do anything stupid, I want that one awake for everything.” I wasn’t really struggling at that point. It was five against one now. I didn’t want to give them a chance to prove their strength anymore than they already had. I just wanted to know what remained of Jesse on the other side of the car. They pulled him up and held him like a rag doll. I couldn’t even see his face. His eyes were swollen lumps of blood. A part of his glasses remained behind his ear. I threw up, my body jerking forward as much as the arms around my chest would permit. Devon punched me in the face.
“Devon, stop it. Just tie him up and put him in the car,” Clyde directed.
“He fucking puked on me.”
“Get over it, fag, and put him in the van.”
They wasted no time. They pushed me down on the ground, face-down in the dirt. Someone kicked me in the ribs to make sure I wouldn’t underestimate their power. Someone else had a wad of my hair gripped in his fist. They turned me over and pulled my beanie down over my face so I couldn’t see. I felt a hard kick between my legs; the pain was simply indescribable. I started crying. Someone pulled me up on my feet. I heard Jesse sobbing. He was alive; at least for now. The van started up. As they drove us wherever they were taking us, all I could hear were voices. I was still trying to think of a way out of this. I knew them, how evil they were, and I knew at least one of us would die if I didn’t do something. They spoke in casual living room voices.
“Okay, we’re not doing this in the van, I just cleaned it the other day,” Clyde told someone.
“Then where?” Someone else asked. I think Devon because he sounded so anxious.
“Deckers Farm.” Then I heard Jesse scream. It wasn’t a reaction to Deckers Farm. They were doing something to him. I was almost glad I couldn’t see. Something brushed against my face. It felt like a cloth and it smelled strong of some kind of gas. It made me react and I pressed my feet against the floor, trying to move.
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” someone said, chuckling. My balls throbbed. I waited for numbness to set in. I felt like I was going to throw up again. The stench of my own vomit made me sick.
“Almost there, sweetheart,” someone whispered in my ear. “Almost time for the grand finale.”