get up, get out, and GET THAT PUSSY

dear diary, 

goodmorning! and such a promising morning. sitting out on sparkle porch, three days from it never being mine again. oh why do I keep my alarm set for 7:30? as if I'd need it! there's a squirrel chewing seeds and chuckking, Ida is keeping it together but she wants to destroy that shit & I'd like her to. such is life, never getting exactly what you want, am I right? so I've made some coffee, and I've got the morning sun kissing allover my skin, and the sounds of rich people's yards getting mowed around me, and that damn chuckle squirrel. I have much to do today. everything for the sale. I made $8 yesterday, diary. I sold neon yellow dirt shirt that advertises a company called knife river and on the back it reads like Singin' and Diggin' Deep. also, a faded glory brand child's bomber jacket, the "hipster vneck" - heather blue dyed purple-orange like pollutant sky, with triangles sewn around the neckline. and the weird robe dress thing, called Models Coat with the pearl snaps & giant pockets & paisley meant for an elementaryschool art teacher. I wanted to write the six-pack story, but a friend came over and then more so I drank the fox beer, 3, and a half of a sweetgrass. then I had a watermelon and a giant glass of ipa. that's nearly a six-pack story there, isn't it. I also made some hummus which the stoners were titillated by, but there is something not quite perfect about it. oh well, dinner: over!! for days!! I had some dreams I don't remember, the cabin of a sailboat, maybe, the caress of a hand lost to me. the thankfulness I have for friends who came by- that isn't a dream- Nickeys shows me a hand not lost. the ones who haven't heard, but who listen. Ian said something like, I don't mind a relationship that's a theater of pain... it is a theater of pain, and a theater of happiness... sometimes someone has to bang their head on the carpet, and then they stop, and then you watch terminator 2, and go to the bar and go to bed... and I'm thinking, it isn't so hard, is it? Kyle & the akron family would urge that love is simple. but I still haven't any choices so I will read a short story in my pretty last-days-of-cougar-den as romb, toom? ooh. 

I will wake up, 

I will get up, 

and I will get out, 

and 

who did she do she

I'm night and day; I think in sounds and sniffs of the serenest cedar, of sweetgrass curls fondling the upsidedown memory breeze. This is morning afternoon now, like night awhile back and me, we just needed to unwind. Unwind around each other then, in the afterwork of uncertain surprise... suspicious sure pies.

I have the legs of a maple-sugared mile, I have the smile of a dove gone black in a newmoon fly-away. But that doesn't stop me from sitting all still all smothered to relax here and just feel like, coat or no coat, the change-purse accounting, my finders dried a counting. I want to court you, but will you let me softly rub you down?

I like this tune, it sings some back room memory like from the wood word of remembers. i like this beer, it tastes expensive. i like this, all of these letters, and I like it specially your recalling the rivers and the decades gone away, like I'm never a part of. Never apart from. and how many?

Slender is the night; stands sideways, blows away. I can see right through it. The music trusts me enough to let me injest it, breathe it. The smells of all the cedars sweetgrasses & sages I crave, and do have! captured in my won rural city! my own rural metropolis. The irony I call like buying the perfect scent. can you believe I fall for it

which is why I can suggest my own paying out of pocket, and pocket-less, it's relating. All the nights and days.