what form do my duties, if real, take

i guess everyone loves good news. i mean that is what we are talking about and were talking about all along. i guess some of us love a good cry too. i know i do!

being special is apparently no work at all really but being cute is. it really is. i don't feel cute very much of the time which justifies its tremendous effort, i guess.

i believe in the question, "what do you care what other people think?" i love and enjoy thinking and resent my pain and confusion. the right order of things is another thing to get wrong and feel miserable about.

i come from a world of dream and authority, where love and joy are a personal fantasy and none of any doctor's business. but i think before speaking and say what i was told. now my voice is fragiler than ever and every stranger looks prophetic. i suppose i would trust richard feynman's corpse. i suppose i would trust anybody.

if beauty is a setup then time is of the essence, of course, but i can't say of mine.

party people

dear the alien conspiracy,

we all make mistakes. like hitler. like elvis. &c., you know? but for the record, breakfast for dinner means lox on a fucking bagel, ok? i'm in boston next week so you know where to find me.

tons 'o love,
— scott

p.s. omg i knowwwww

p.p.s. fuck i'm bleeding

It is time

It is time, my beautiful mirror image, (is it funny to write "again?") for what we have always had. Don't let's mention "harmony" either because that is your idea and you have very stupid taste. Your bad taste and your senseless humor owe to those unlashed eyes with no envy, perfect mirror. This time was long or short and strange — you would say singular — but not itself again yet. Again, after all. Well, your reflection is so beautiful; I envy it.

miss you, thanks

i think maybe the bad feelings i am feeling are a quesadilla scorned. that is lucky for the two big glasses of wine to either side of my computer. lucky for me too? for us? donkey kong?

i had thanksgiving with my family. next to my parents' house's little downstairs bed is a pocket george carlin quote book on the nightstand and seeing it made me miss george. he joked with real feeling and he knew how to use words either for or against his audiences.

one birthday in high school sam gave me rant in e-minor and i would fall asleep to it downstairs. bill died when i was 6 in atlanta. our kitchen then had fresh pine green grout and for five minutes every school day while mom made breakfast i would throw an afghan over the floor vent and curl up in my clothes on my side between this blanket and the new tile in a blow of warm air. and like a fetus i would listen to her tv for bush and hussein and clinton and gays in the military to make news on our refinished countertop. bill's material was still fresh in high school. and is today. i also miss bill.

what else should i say about thanksgiving? i hope i'm not feeling the turkey. i ate this quesadilla for lunch but have felt crummy all day. and in my sleep. and last night. i was bumped into first class both ways so maybe that could be it.

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 15

these cuttlefish

Man our moon looks good. Like an infinite dimensional curve in either direction of the toilet. Like a bird eye. Like autocorrect poetry. Like me!

But I bet all people look at their moons that way.

Do straight people exist?

Yes, I believe they do. There is a continuum, right? And people should be able to have happiness all in one place. I have biblical knowledge of womanhood and while it wasn't for me in a long-term way it's nice to know about. But you do not need to know everything to be happy.

(i'm drinking)

any excuse that works for you i get to use too, which is all my fault. right?

guilt is this ethical quality i keep hearing of as if to suggest that i do not really know. well i do really know (i'm drinking here) but don't think it's our problem. mine, i mean.

pronouns were a bad choice, obviously, but that isn't my problem either.