quit your job

i live small life on the periphery, i am marginalize and there's great deal in which i choose not to participate. i wanted silence and i have that silence which i arrived here speckled in sore and headaches, my colon so tied in knots that i never thought i'd have bowel movements again. my system had stopped working, jammed with the odor of QA monitoring sheets, mineral water, the smell of three o'clock in the morning and the endless stress of "is this a telemarketing call?" done grudgingly to little applause. i had compulsions that made me confuse shopping with creativity, to take Advil every eight hours and assume that recently watching DVD on a Monday morning was enough. but now that i have to live,things are much, much better.

november 9, 2001

"strip." "talk to your self." "look at the view." "masturbate." it's a day later and the two of us are rattling down along Banaue Avenue., handed for our usual road trip. we're in your Toyota Corolla, an endearing gray model of some sort driven up the sides of commercial establishments and held together by popsicle sticks, chewing gum and scotch tape. and in the car we're playing a quick game -- answering my open command to "name all the activities people do when they are by themselves out in the desert. "take nude polaroids." hoard little pieces of junk and debris." "shoot those little pieces of junk to bits with a shot gun."

"hey," you roar. "it's kind of like life, isn't it?"

i guess.