Black coffee; spin it gentle, cue cream heaven algorithm, skinny dipping dollar store manicure, brewing tight curls, hubble in a cup. My little double shot whirl-pool, where’s my double hot whirl-pool? I hate this, I want to die. Bossy with the world cuz I’m a bad bitch. Broke my heel, he stained my world, they stained my world, I stain peoples worlds everyday, what does this mean? I don’t know. Does it matter? Always and forever, yeah, I’ll add in beeper codes, it’ll be cryptic and 90. Not 90’s, or the 1990’s, or Portland, or MC Hammer. I’ll buy my neighborhood. I’ll buy the houses and I’ll buy the dogs and cats. Army of dogs and cats complete with barracks and oppressed natives. Heed my words, crumbs of potato chips at the bottom of the bag, the sticky in the cup holder of the Corolla, hair creatures plugging up my brain. I want warm apple pie and french vanilla ice cream. I want vanilla pie and warm apple cream. “I want nothing” is a zero. To “want” is something. I changed my mind. Warm Vanilla cream, slowly focusing eyes, Tibetan prose sublimation event; words transcend to light. $67.36 for a plastic bag, the morning after pill, and a coke. He bought me a scratch off to cheer a girl up. Black coffee, a girls only friend. Smoke it like you’re french god damn, “god damn” he said. Sleep me away Romeo. Buy me a small dog and pay my car insurance. You’re ok, you’re kind of old, kind of Indian, and I’m terrified of what might lie behind the thickness of your beard. You buy me drinks honey… I love you. What does Tabitha want to be when she grows up? I’m a bank robber. Your house is burning. The house, it’s on fire, there’s still time, go, go! Bubble baths, fresh Clementines, I smell of fire, the radio is personal and the antenna speaks italian. It feels like 22 years of falling asleep. Nightmares. Electric ab stimulators for fat hearts and big eyes. Through squinted eyes, television three after midnight. Silk slip. Glass of white, free box, basic. Magic lamp, three wishes, cute drunk boy, bag of Andy Capp’s hot fries, and something numb, a housewife special, I’ll never be, so it’s obvious what I need. “No Ammonia.” in bad english say’s Penelope; Revlon. “I’ll put you to bed early!” my response to him saying that he’s been going to bed progressively earlier since we started dating. It’s only been two months, I think. Do not disturb, I am writing! Do not disturb the bee hive, I am the soul eater. Killer Queen Bee. “Plato, just some old white guy.” “Well he’s dead now.” “Ding dong the bitch is dead.”. Hmm, I sometimes wonder…Is the gas station clerk an alien, like a real alien, with purple skin. Tiny alien inside giant Arabic model mechanical human giving me change for cigarettes. Or is it possible that Oprah Winfrey is over six hundred years old? Why does the thought of washing other peoples hands bring me closer to my soul? Tiger print booty shorts and Margaritas in plastic cups! I sculpt Alabaster stone with my eyes. Get what you want before somebody else eats it all up. Jelly donuts haunting me. My fingers smell like cigarettes. I woke up mean and aiming a hand gun at the piano. HE woke up, taunted the cats, something about the yawning claw cat club, stole a book on Tibet from my roommate, rambled about how he needed to “escape” for coffee and sustenance, I would have struck him dead if it wasn’t for his dashing good looks. I pointed my gun at his piano playing while he gathered free drugs on the porch and danced around like an asshole. Floating raft of kerosene and red pumps. Flaming arrow by Chanel plucked from Paris. Rose petals are contagious. It’s no coincidence that the dark chocolate’s, like the dark arts, across the aisle from lipstick and glitter nail polish. I reek of fire. I reek of fire. I reek of fire. I wish I had a time machine so I could go back and see that one movie for the first time in that one theatre that one time when I was somewhere around the age of you know… eleven. I need a big bow on my head that reads “NO”. Maybe I can get Herpes and join one of those dating sites where everyone has Herpes. Live in a circus tent with a clown named Bongo sipping Mai thais under the flaming hoop, slap a tiger in the face, let’em keep his clown shoes on when we… start a nice little Herpa-A-Derp Partridge family. Tiffany lamps, Empty one-gallon gas cans, Full one-gallon ice cream cans, handful of stamps, rested writing hand, corded telephones stretching from room to room. The Operator is a spider. You’ll trip your sister with the web you weave. Woopie, Wazooooo, I’m goin’ to Vegas. Bank robber turned show girl, tonights news at eight. It’s 4:14 AM the sun won’t come up today. If dissatisfaction manifested physically, it would fill the air with grey and blinding ambient poison. If I had the power to manifest my emotions physically be warned for ye shall suffer one thousand years of blood shed and plague. I am Sludge, I have no remorse. A kitten today at Willard and Reynolds pet emporium lost 3 of it’s 9 lives. Scientists believe that the clock is actually an ancient life form in a state of willful hibernation. If Sandra believes that I’ll actually let her crash on my couch for “a little bit until I get my head straight”… “Mmmm yesss can I help you?” Black leather and red lanolin. Dead Cow, dead whale, inspirational. Dead bitch, white bitch, move bitch I’m next! I want this, I want that, I want THAT now! Trash, leave. Brief pause… I’m a dreamy whimsical sober and a Terminator II level drunk. Let’s rock. Patience otherwise known as long suffering. I’m the girl in the corner playing madlib in my head with the cable TV trying to blend in. Surrounded by numb & weakened moths worshipping the dim & easy to reach lights. Getting weirder by the second. Can I come to your party and not have to talk? I’ll smoke your cigarettes. Purple lightning Jeggings and Winnie the Pooh socks from the Party store bring happiness. Gas station chicken tenders and apple pies while the water soaks in. My elegant black gloves have never touched a steering wheel nor dare they dream of such sorted affair! Dare they dream! I dare them to dream. See where they’ll end up? With the rats. Gold dipped Cheetos. Never-ending Po’ boy. World wide oceanic light rail. Elevator to heaven for glass floor tours of earth. Oh I love my ugly boys. Two woman stand gossiping in the coffee room of Webber Electronics. One woman notices an itch near her wedding ring. Suddenly the woman, the room, the building, the streets and the piss, the hotdog hot air rising up from the sewers, the monarch butterfly in the dogs mouth, the America’s funniest home videos over broccoli & cheese with the pork chops and the family they belong to, Poof. Cotton Candy. Big pink plumes firing like geysers from apocalyptic sink holes. Sky turns blood pink. Cotton candy fungus swallowing people alive. Everybody dead. I mean, nobodies really dead but these people looked really dead. Like really really really dead. Like “Fuck I’m dead.” dead. I am a pit-bull terrier and you’re fucking with the ultimate.