Archive | September, 2019

Universal Basic Woman

30 Sep

Holbein peasant

When Yang made the announcement people were stunned. The Cato Institute slipped their children cyanide pills. Held their hands while they convulsed and foamed and slipped mercifully into the night. Chelsea Handler set herself on fire. Even the channers couldn’t believe it– and it was them who’d made it happen. But I signed up the next day. It was like my prayers were heard. Continue reading

The Noise

22 Sep

st francis

Here I am in front of my house. Kevin’s in his kitchen. Windows always open. He thumps around. Clatters pots while screaming. You can ask him to stop making a specific noise at a specific time. But he doesn’t internalize the bigger concept. You shouldn’t do meth and play drums at 2AM. Crank your enormous top of the line subwoofer you bought the day after your new neighbor moved in, before sunrise. Judo throw your fat girlfriend, who screams from the diaphragm like a theater major, into load bearing studs and hollow core doors. Continue reading

Drop the Rock

22 Sep


Can’t meet a girl until I quit my job. Can’t quit my job until I have a hundred grand. Can’t get a hundred grand because I spend it on girls. I crashed my car. I crashed into the back of a Salvadoran couple who were clearly uninjured but the guy started holding his back with the subtlety of the evil priest in the telenovelas they play at the laundromat. Motherfucker. Now I’m getting called into work on a Sunday. Exactly like fucking Office Space. How did this happen. It’s always been like this. I listened to my AA sponsor. I was grateful to be of service and now I’m alone working my ass off with nothing for nothing and I’m horribly aware that my problems don’t exist and they’re all in my own head. I do have a hundred grand. Some of it’s a retirement account. I’d pay taxes if I withdrew it. So suddenly it doesn’t count. This time two years ago it was fifty grand to quit and it’ll just go up and up to whatever amount is close but not quite there. It was six months of cash then a year now two then two plus what if I get someone pregnant, like anyone’s keeping my fucking baby. Like I’d want them to at my Los Angeles public schools level of income. I need an abundance mentality. I could crash into a hundred Salvadorans and still be in the black. I could Farmers Market it through the Salvadoran Heritage Festival. A hundred kids with a hundred whores– what the fuck are they gonna do to me. Continue reading

I’ll Never Meet My Future Wife

7 Sep

carly text

At the beach. Looking for the place I took Lilly. Where I carried her down the cliffs on our first date. She’d broken her leg eating it on a bicycle. Had a cast on. I helped her to her car after AA, where I’d stared at her two years. Lifted her crutches into the back of her Prius. Would you uh… do you want to uh… go to the beach with me this weekend and she said YEAH right away like she’d been waiting. After taking fastidious care to never look at me. Never sit near me. Only glance at me sideways, like someone told her I’d written about wanting to come back as a tapeworm and live in her asshole. I’m sorry but it’s true. Continue reading