Day off. Peace and quiet in the neighborhood. No sound but tinnitus. This morning in the mirror I thought I saw a bald spot. Right where the back of my hair spirals together. Looked again. Trick of the light.
I harvested my squash. Ten pounds at least. Ten pounds of delicious food right from the soil. It will have the terroir of the dirt patch where the mockingbirds pick at the cactus pears. Where the cats hide in the wild geraniums, where the raccoons forage. Where I sit and type sometimes as the sunlight expands, where the crickets sing in back at night, where the rare red-whiskered bulbul used to pick at the black mustard, a biblically significant weed.
Oh shit big wildfire over the ridge–
And it’s out. That’s not the big ironic thing coming. Doctor’s appointment later too– but it’s not gonna be a cancer diagnosis. I’m just gonna have a good day. Woodrow still comes around. Big tough stray cat with half an ear bit off and huge nuts. If they evacuate these hills how could I catch him. Take him with me.
Rain will start soon but for now it’s a perfect day. Had tacos and chatted with a methed out chattering homeless woman who I’d fuck. A bunch of sweaters fell off her shopping cart. I volunteered to help her but she couldn’t make sense of me picking her stuff up. Just wanted to tell me about some nemesis occupying some important doorway. Mexican woman, 30’s with a nice face– I could have had it. Could have had her bent over holding on to the chain link fence by the Gold Line tracks and I’d have a kid.
Also got chided by a stroller pushing mom for jaywalking. She said it was “cocky,” and I said if it’s my day to die so be it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just having mom energy but didn’t know how to say please take care of yourself. Some instinct to help and protect me but had to speak it like a cunt for some intersectional reason. Soon I’ll go walk in the park with this 22 year old whose face looks too much like Ziggy Stardust but her hips in her Hinge pics in a romper, maybe suck on her bottom lip, maybe feel her little tits. Maybe plant a hot crawly load deep in her womb. Her colon.
I saw my stepfather. Alive and healthy. After having that Bernie Sanders heart stent placed. Grateful for every minute with him. My mom alive and healthy. My brothers. My stepmom. All I need is for these people to remain in perfect health and of sound mind until I myself perish of natural causes at 120. Reading Celine, he’s in Africa. I can’t believe I haven’t read him before but I’m glad I’m discovering him at this exact time. Look at everything that’s happened in just one morning. Just two hours really. Just by not going to work.
delicioustacos 
Celine is good; glad you’re onto him. Please tell Woodrow I said hello.
Did you know a lot of what Celine wrote is held back and won’t be published. Because … uh, you know.
“Had tacos and chatted with a methed out chattering homeless woman who I’d fuck.”
How were the tacos?
Hey, you remember that comic who hit on you in front of everyone at the such factor? Was that Tiffany Haddish? I keep thinking it was her.
“She didn’t mean anything by it. Just having mom energy but didn’t know how to say please take care of yourself. Some instinct to help and protect me but had to speak it like a cunt for some intersectional reason.”
HAHAHAHA
congrats on the bountiful harvest
Not spam, just saw your tweet and wanted to build a backlink. Read it or don’t: https://elanab.com/guest-post-corn-and-health/
Forgive my ignorance but who is tbis celine you speak of.
pls gib moar poast por favor, need to jajaja
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis-Ferdinand_C%C3%A9line – this celine or not?
wrong, he is referring to this celine:
https://www.amazon.com/Celine-Dion-My-Story-Dream/dp/0380819058
Genius. Bukowski like, bed that’s as good as I got.
Genius.
Bukowski like.
That’s as good as I got.
i’m getting early bukowski vibes
i’m feeling houellebecq feels
i’m thinkin palahniuk thoughts
delicioustacos (DTAC) will be 1K USD by end of year
buy now or cry later
screencap this
Another work day. Despair and angst in the office. Sounds of small talk. Empty chatter about “plans for the holidays” and “did you hear about what happened to Bob in Accounting”. This morning in the mirror I thought I saw a hair growth spot. Left of where the front of my hair dissipates apart. Got excited. Looked again. Trick of the light. I’m still going bald. My dick is still limp from excessive cooming. Actually, that’s not true. When I see Susan from Client Support wear her tight blue skirt and white blouse, I feel my benis tingle. I may look dead on the outside. But in there, in my heart, there is a spark that still glows, a mini horny lantern.