ellen kennedy signs online
kenneth anger looks at her screenname
it's floating a little, like a tree
kenneth anger clicks on her name and a message box comes up
kenneth anger types 'hey'
my finger rests on the enter key
kenneth anger feels nervous
his finger pushes the enter key a little
then it pushes it more, but kenneth anger doesn't feel like he controls his finger anymore

five minutes later ellen kennedy hasn't responded to 'hey'
kenneth anger waits three more minutes
kenneth anger signs off
kenneth anger signs back online
ellen kennedy is still signed on
kenneth anger puts up an away message
kenneth anger changes the message
kenneth anger takes the message down and makes himself 'available'
ellen kennedy's screenname goes idle
but kenneth anger doesn't see it. kenneth anger thinks she signed off.
then kenneth anger sees she just went idle.
then she goes un-idle.
ellen kennedy's screenname just stares at kenneth anger.

kenneth anger thinks about typing 'hey' again or an evasive statement like 'so you're writing a book' or 'you're working on poetry?' or 'do you go to the gym?' kenneth anger is not thinking 'kenneth anger has limited time to talk to ellen. kenneth anger thinks kenneth anger somehow knows that the time will end and either not talking to her or talking to her will be a better situation than having to make the decision to type a message again.

a different person messages kenneth anger
they talk about basketball

before stutter-stepping in the hallway we were like two salmon on a date.

while crossing the stream we were two salmon going through a divorce.

don't judge me by the color of my skin. i've put my mouth on every pine branch
in yosemite national park.

we're it's oldest species of mammal. we're antique mammals, part of the 1/5th of the endangered mammals.

before inhaling the psycho-active cannabis we unroll all of the tape in the house.

the baby begins talking too early. we put the tape in a circle around the baby to curb the extinction of our species.

before we curb the extinction we didn't question our dependence on psycho-active cannabis.

before the baby talked grandma hung jack hammers on the wall and petted them with a pashmina.

before the jack hammers i fight grandma over all the take-out i eat. i put a bacon cheeseburger deluxe on the formica table. grandma jackhammers the cheeseburger into a slushy.

before i eat cheeseburgers i examine my emotional status and think ---- it, i'm a man.

before i become a man i bring a notebook and a deck of batman the movie trading cards in a backpack up a mountain in the adirondacks.

lightning strikes my grandfather and he screams 'JOKERRRRRRRRRRRR SUCKS!'

my grandfather loves mushrooms. some people think psycho-active people are stupid and they laugh at them.

i read two news stories on a seattle news site; one about jimi hendrix's estate winning a lawsuit against a vodka maker; one about the stryker brigade being sent to afganastan (3,900 troops).

i read two articles in the nation by justin taylor; one about nimrod workman, a coal miner/singer who lived to 99; one a review of a Lovecraft collection, a man who was contradictary in his philosophies and his work. i read a post by noah cicero on his blog about him being in a computer lab with headphones. i read CAVES by matthew simmons. the story is about a man who dates caves.

on another note:

my cell phone is in my pocket. i'm wearing a sweatshirt over a collared shirt, over a blue t-shirt. i drank one can of pepsi.

a bottle of lens cleaner and a good quality cloth for lens cleaning are next to me. they are gentle, i feel.

i am going to drink coffee maybe. i want to take notes as i read Yeats.

i download albums

i do my downloading when i drink organic beer

i lie on my side and type

with a calm facial expression, i think about dogs biting my calf muscles

i should get a steak with cheese sandwich tomorrow

the presence of my new video game distracts me, being my reward for typing

the notes i took earlier are scribbled poorly

i felt unfocused for an hour

trying to fit two vague things into a logical flow of ideas,

i feel, i don't know, stupid

the mongols throat sing when drunk.

the people i see's emotions are like knotted in their faces.

every night of our lives we're losing parts of ourselves into our mattresses and pillows.

i have the blurry feeling that my tendencies effect my skin's elasticity.

the woodswoman still washes in the lake.

the environmentalist has the cabin, the developer wants it.

i thought about you on the beach thinking about me.

last night the pigs freaked out and went wild.
i slept calmly in my bed.

the organic worm farms self-hate that's why they're stying.

i'm not angry by something. i see it's fine. when i'm in the presence of it i don't see it's fine it becomes a real thing that affects my actions. i internalize things. introvert. extrovert. pooptrovert. you're a poop head.

i'm like a stupid fucking singletree fucking turd people.

the worm farm looks like a fucking toy item with mold seeps in them.

i feel pressure to not express emotions.
in a consumer society this will increase the presence of gratification.
the infrastructure of consumerism creates laziness
and unaccountability.
if you help people in certain situations
profits will increase; i.e. healthy people are better consumers.
being prudent during uncertain times
is tactful.
as soon as i have 2,000 in my savings
account i'm going to invest
in a clothing manufacturer.

four years ago i had a drug experience. i ran towards my friends after seeing a dutch film, Hucckle, at the film society night. the street slants up, 50 yards, straight to where they're exiting a car. they had some left for me. i ate them from a plastic bag. we walk between ten and fifteen blocks down in to town. their doses kick in when we get to the porch of the house. our other friends don't let us in. i don't remember what happens. we drink bottles of Milwaukee red from a cardboard box. they roll two cigars with marijuana. after two hits of that i feel the mushrooms. my mind feels good. thinking gratifies the other parts of my mind, things of my thoughts fall into my body. the light is good. it's orange and blue or something. every time i think of that time i know it felt good. it feels like i'll never be the one to bring myself to a worse situation. i know it was strange. behind the house a leafless tree looks like a web of veins. the main trunk of the tree pulsates. the sky is pinkish black. we walk to the campus. there's a big monkey sculpture. we run towards the monkey sculpture. up close we see the monkey has a man's face. he's a big gorilla with a man's face actually. i think we ride a golf cart around the campus and i fall off. i'm lost on a gravel path somewhere and i feel like that's a small problem. i stare up at the moon i think. there's a pine tree top bending towards the moon, like it's being sucked in. on the porch the people are talking, laughing, and going insane over the drug's effects. i want to talk at length to them. the colors are really good, everywhere. i am quiet, i think. i'm satisfied. it's just a satisfied feeling. the leaves on the ground go crazy in the vacant lot. a dog chased me through there once. our porch is slanted but we all have good seats. fuck. idk.

my sick day weakens my sneakers. i hear the baby cry for thirty hours. i play video games for two hours, drink two rum and cokes, then pause the game, sigh and rub my eyes till they bleed. my chest wheezes. as i move to the sink, the door frames blur. i do things to the dishes. my eyes see the eyes of spoons. i pour another drink. i become drunk. i feel like saying goodnight to babies. the people must be enjoying their night. music plays somewhere for everyone. i haven't heard any music today. when i finish my third drink, i read poems. i'm doing tricks in the video game without completing goals. as i make the guy with the skateboard jump over stairs the board rotates 360 degrees and does one lateral flip. he then lands back on the board. the game makes clicking and rolling sounds. light moves across the wall then the ceiling. the shapes stretch, and shrink, then are gone. i stare at the paused game's screen. i am aware of a low-level numbness, like a rubber-band ball catching dust and hairs. my numbness is the result of years of frustration. i feel isolated, my thoughts stew. we stay beneath the couch until insanity. i am staring with unfocused eyes at the computer screen. my thoughts went away and came back with negative results. i think there might be a small toy somewhere in the world that can change my emotion. i want a chance to talk to this toy. i will try very hard to make you feel better. i will make you like me again. . . the light leaves my apartment for the light i know. when we talk again i want to hold your scapula. we all will drink in separate locations. my video game wants me to play again. i'm thinking about a story i read earlier. i want to tell the person in the story there's nothing wrong with talking to your cats. this girl i like and the city allocate their locations rhetorically. the linear placement of cars has a gentle curve. people live in these connected materials. the cars wait below like cars that don't matter.