Monday, August 6, 2007


while watching the Brittany Murphy-dakota fanning vehicle
uptown girls
in two different places
a lot of minutes apart.



After last night
With all the sugar I drank
I’m gonna go
And join a think tank

Explore the reasons
I destroy my body so
What will they say?
Woe, woe, woe.



I’m laying on the couch in my brother’s house, looking up at the roof through the hole in the ceiling, not a break in the ceiling like an accident, but as though there was an attic pull-down stairwell that would take you from the main floor of my brother’s house to the roof of an apartment building in the city, black tar and all.

My brother yells down to me that I shouldn’t be wrapping myself up in the blanket, that I’m dirty, I’m guessing because I’ve slept with prostitutes. So I yell up to him, “Me, I’m dirty? You’ve slept with hundreds of women and now you’re up on the roof with David Herman and some blonde woman who sure isn’t your wife.”

A few moments later the blonds pulls off her wig to show that she’s a man. My brother comes down from the attic stairs ready to kill me, I hold something up between us and he runs to exit the house. He encounters my mother, who is blocking the doorway, and he physically moves her, deciding not to do anything to her, and leaves.

My mom asks me what happened. I go to tell her the story, and my sister’s daughter Michelle tries to eavesdrop, and won’t leave the room. When we ask her to she does, and then she tries to walk in slowly around the outside edge of the room before we shoo her again.

I’m whispering to my mother what happened slowly, and she says, that’s it? And then I get to the part about the man in the blonde wig, and she says to my father, “He may have chased her away from him.”

There are four label-less two-liter bottles of soda on the windowsill. The far left one appears to be Welch’s Grape soda.