it's a comatose pridezilla kind of a day. it's a jungle out there. i was afraid to be touched so i gained dimension in my own close quarters. my uterus is shooting blanks, i hung it out to dry so i won't get hurt. hello. it rained mackerel, it rained trout. tom waits is here with me now, also. i am going to make an artifact of him, or rather of what he represents, and pray to it. not like worshiping an entity, but worshipping the fact of the art.

i discovered a new way of making my shoes. and a new way of making love that doesn't involve physics, so that the people downstairs could sleep. i discovered that his lips contained a new fold-out structure as if they were multiplying and i thought for a second that he might swallow me and i was afraid but then realized that being afraid was a new process i had to embrace in order to get to ecstasy.

the clouds and the weight of cold. the boys and men and the women salespeople like glue and cuts. i smell gritty jalapeno black. i warn you i'm not all to good at explaining myself, or at carrying anything heavy. but i'm fierce. i can throw wind at you and make you eat yourself starting from the toes without cutting anything off. fasten you to the tortoise. and never weigh anything ever again.