You know you need it: Halloween inspiration

I know I should be thinking about my Halloween costume. But I am not. I don't give a fuck right now. I guess I'll join the ranks of MJs. Last night I was hell-bent on hooking up and I managed to do so. With a guy. This is what shots of tequila will do to you. Cute boy I thought, had he only been a little Indian. He kissed me hard in the parking lot.
And then in the morning, after a night of hovering in those black holes that swallow all materia, well, really only an hour ago, as I nearly choked on his morning breath, while being poked by his morning hard-on, he told me; Uh, maybe we should use a condom, I've had genital warts.
No, maybe you should get the fuck out!
Am I going to get warts down there now?
I am never drinking again. And this time I mean it. Not until Halloween. Promise.

Until then, I leave you with the best Halloween costume ever, except these were some rad bitches I ran into on Mardi Gras day in N'awlins: Ghetto Marie Antoinettes

Isn't it grand to be independently wealthy?

So guess what? I am in Arcata, Humboldt County, smoking the kind bud with some hippies. Can't say I love white boys with dreadlocks and sandals, but this shit is good. They also have a sad peacock in the backyard. It comes at dusk, to hang out in the tree and mourn lost love by singing its heart out.
The bird may be my soulmate. I came here to mourn lost love. And of course, to devise a plan to find new love or to rekindle the old love.
I took a walk through the redwood forest today and that made me feel insignificant. In a good way. I am just a speck of dirt on this earth.

I wanna head back tomorrow though, and paint the town red. Starting at Little Joy. At least I should be able to find somebody with whom I can fuck the pain away.

Isn't Perez H just a mean fat Fa**ot who hates women who like sex?

Hasn't Brad P started to look like an old man? Isn't Perez H just a mean fat Fa**ot who hates women who like sex?
Isn't fashion overrated? I'd like to live in a land where everyone wears unisex jumpsuits.
I dream about Utopia. This is what red wine does to me. That and blue teeth.
I drunk dialed HER last night. It was bad. She said something about another girl. Then I smashed my cellphone into pieces. Haha, just an excuse to buy an iphone. Cuz I'm a sucker too.

I think I'll go for a drive. Everything feels better when I am on my way. Even if the road leads to hell.

A day on the beach with S.

We drove north. i wanted to reach Big Sur, but there was no time. never time. Always no time. Highway 1.
Hot day. Hot girl in my car. But her hands are always so cold. And she flinches when I try to touch her. And we are not talking sexual advances here. No undertones. No undertow.

I had made nice vegan sandwiches. Of course she didn't eat. I am still in a strangely dark mood. It almost feels chemical. Maybe those pills did a number on my system?

We talked. About her mother and about Sweden. All the things she left behind. And all the things we have to look forward to. We both agreed; it's not much.

Still a perfect day.

I don't know what I am still doing up at 5.

cotton-candy girl in a cruel world

can you believe this? I am staying in tonight again. I did buy some yarn today. So I guess I am serious about this knitting thing. Plus I am planning on going to Berlin soon and I hear it's colder than a witch's tit there.

Dad is gone. Selling vacuum-cleaners or hydroponic weed, who knows, who cares? I hate when he shows up here, in full-on dad-mode. He's never molested me, but he is a molester. In his black heart.

Tomorrow I am going to the beach with S. Something to look forward to.

Tonight I am considering my options. And let me tell you: The future looks so bright, I gotta wear shades.

I could become:

A crackhead

Seller of cotton-candy at a Freakshow

Shampoo-girl in the Valley (at least I can spend my days making shampoo horns)

Suicidal

Hindu

I'm going to find a beginner's pattern for my knitting project. Any advice? L? Anyone?!?!

My friend made out with that guy from Arcade Fire

I picked a bad night to stay home. Dad decided to come over. He's in the bathroom meditating. He's been doing the TM thing for as long as I can remember, but he's still an asshole. No golden light shining through him. I guess you're doomed if you have a black heart.
He told me I looked like I had put on weight.
(yeah, fuck you, I like corn dogs and that's none of your business)
And then he told me I had a zit on my chin. Like I wasn't already über-aware of that stop light and like that stop-light wasn't part of my decision to stay home, under the same roof as that asshole.
He said he would cook for me. Eh, thanks but no thanks. I've had enough soggy tofu casserole to last me a lifetime.
And before I had a chance to shut it out, he'd told me that him and Mag the Hag (one of his many incredibly lame lovers) had practiced sex sans ejaculation and that he felt the Oneness.

Terri called and went on and on about how she'd made out with one of the Arcade Fire members.
While she did that I was feeling up that giant stoplight zit, caressing and squeezing it.

I'll tell you all about how damn easy it is to be a groupie. You don't even have to be cute. Next time.

Over and out, peeps!

not E, not cool

That was definitely not E. For all i know it was Viagra mixed with rat poison mixed with heroin. We were downtown at someone's recording studio when the fuzzy glow halo started hovering above my head. The room bathed in soft pink hues and then some transvestite that hadn't shaved her legs properly (wiry black hairs coming out through the fishnets) , handed me a bottle of champagne. I took a swig and felt the bubbles travel down to my gut and make a U-turn. I was cool like strawberry ice cream, and got up from the couch and zigzagged down the hallway. Bathroom occupied. I hurried down the stairs, my mouth filled with puke, and there on the street, next to a ridiculously large SUV, one that J surely would have keyed had she been drunk, and had she there -- I projectile-puked. There was a fountain of corn, banana mush and champagne but doing it felt like drinking coca-cola.
And during the night I threw up again and again. And it felt pretty nice. My body was like a sack of blood and guts but my brain was clear and pain-free like seltzer.
I didn't try to fuck the pain away. My libido has been strangely absent. Perhaps I should take up knitting?
And then, I AM embarrassed to write this, I drove home.

My damn cousin has been touched by the hand of God and that hand fist-fucked her.

there's a lot happening. and it's mostly bad stuff. my intestines are tangled up in clumsy knots that grind and trash at my belly lining. I chase my vodka down with Pepto-bismol. S is starving herself and somehow in her nutrient-deprived brain she thinks it's good, what she's doing. I can't talk sense into her, she just says that I am the one who's fucked up and polluted. At least you can't use my ribs as a goddamn xylophone. When I first met S I had a crush on her. The way she closed her eyes when she smiled just made my whole body feel carbonated.

My damn cousin has been touched by the hand of God and that hand fist-fucked her.

My dad hates me and I hate him. He's a fucking scumbag Scientologist Casanova loser.

And she says I must finally terminally understand that she doesn't love me.

Bakersfield, CA or NO SEX DRIVE=NO PROBLEM!

I have this cousin in Bakersfield, California. Her father was a preacher man that the good lord brought to heaven early. Perhaps to reward him for all the times he got wasted on moonshine in the shed out back and spanked his daughter with that belt he surely had bought in Tijuana, while he was there fucking hookers.
My cousin, L, is 21 now, and she's saving herself for her own personal prince. Maybe another preacher man with a stiff leather belt from Tijuana? She wears cheap Target sweaters in pastel colors and patent leather flats. She enjoys bible studies. And still, because we sometimes played as kids, she considers me her best friend. No one listens like you do, Kim. That makes me feel like drinking a tax-free size bottle of Vodka and float into oblivion.

Lately, she's been on anti-depressives. They give her a lot of anxiety and sexual thoughts. Or so she says. I thought they were supposed to do the opposite. No sex drive=no problems
She goes to a Christian College and told me she's had dirty thoughts about one of her teachers. She says she closes her eyes and sees herself grinding herself against his corduroy pants over and over.
Her mother hasn't left the bedroom in years. The curtains are always drawn and homo-erotic jesus pictures are plastered all over the walls. She doesn't understand, of course. She probably swallows a sack of pills every day. Poor L does everything around the house. And it is only because I feel sorry for her that I will drive through the burnt-out land to hold her hand and tell her it's alright to fantasize about dry-humping your teacher.

now it's cozy

no, NOW it's cozy ... no, now it's cozy. when I buy that new rug it will be cozy.

went to see S at the coffee shop today. she seems to be thinking: just one more pound to shed and i will be pretty.

but tomorrow never comes.

S, if you read this, you need some In-n-Out in your life.

sexy clowns

Tucson is kind of cool. Too bad people here are so ugly. It must be the the dry air. JT is only 22, but she looks like 35. It's not a good thing, but she's still kind of hot. The thoughts I had had earlier, about seducing her, where destroyed at dinner. Refried beans and green chili sauce did something unkind to my system and I have been bloated ever since.
We went over to one of JT's friends. He lived in the ghetto of Tucson. Lots of lowriders and Mexican thug boys. He was one of those gay boys that thinks he's straight. But worst of all, his whole house was covered in clowns. We were drinking wine out of clown cups, sitting on a sofa with clown pillows behind our backs. In the bathroom there was a clown soap dispenser, and on the porch an inflatable Ronald McDonald (who has given me multiple nightmares) was tied up with a string around his neck. Worst of all, in the kitchen, a painting of a clown performing oral sex on a raven-haired girl, hung above the kitchen table.

I would have freaked if I was alone at that Sicko's house. Don't understand why JT is friends with him. She must be terribly lonely.

I did the lonely-girl-at-the-bar-thing

i could stay here, i love how quiet it is. but i have to go home. tomorrow i will drive to Tucson to visit JT. She's a total basketcase. Her closet is filled with skulls and bones and her relationship to her dead mother's horses is the only thing in her life that's sexual. She's not my type but maybe I'll get her drunk and do her, just as a favor.
I did the lonely-girl-at-the-bar today and some guy in a cowboy hat the size of one of Saturn's rings sat down next to me and bought me a Lone Star and started chatting me up. His teeth looked really sharp and he frightened me. When I said I had to go, he claimed to be more than happy to escort me home. I noticed that both his pinkie finger nails were long. I said I would be alright and left the cute indie rock Mexican bartender boy $20 for two beers.

They do have Prada

in the desert. No tumbleweeds though.

But the sky was like a baby blue blanket. And I drove deeper and deeper into the desert and deeper and deeper into my mind.

Randomly, at this café, I met this older couple that said I could spend the night in their guesthouse. I looked real hard at the guy to figure out if he was a creep or not. But I saw no signs of it. And the guesthouse is amazing. They said it used to be a chicken coop, but now they've turned it into a southwestern-style dollhouse.
When I had washed the desert dust off my face I sat outside on a chair reading when they both came and joined me, and offered me an O'Douls. They told me that they were both recovering alcoholics and how they had spent half their lives running from themselves. And then they ran into each other and live happily ever after and everything was peachy.
They are total dorks, but sweet. The woman, Betsy, fed me pound cake, and told me that every other month she went to El Paso to have a botox injection in her forehead. What a waste, I wanted to say, but didn't. Her face was chubby, ordinary and criss-crossed with fine lines of time. Her eyes were baby blue like the sky.

Then I drove out into the night. The sky was an unexplored part of the greyscale. I went to see the Marfa Mystery lights.

last time i was in Austin we ate pulled pork sandwiches at Whole Food's roof terrace. but now J doesn't wanna support the bastards. I want to, but I am unable to care about things like that.
instead, we ate at some dirt cheap Mexican place in East Austin. I want soap, perfume and shampoo made out of cilantro.

we went swimming at Barton Springs. the water chocked me into a sharp consciousness. afterwards J gave me acupuncture. I had needles in my ear and down my legs and was floating away on something that felt like a soft orgasm.
j asked me later, when we had tea in her parlor, if I thought of myself as a happy person.
I said: I am not sure anymore.
Not when I drink until I wake up with puke in my hair. Because that means I could just as well not have woken up at all.
but here in Austin, i haven't really been drinking. Just a couple of margaritas yesterday and today. And that makes people seem strange. When I am the stranger.
Anyway, j is asleep already. i wonder why she's my friend?
u have a long trip ahead of me tomorrow. LA-bound.

Daddy's Dollars

so tonight I slept in a squat. At least that's what I think it was. I am in another universe and I have a blowdryer in my mouth and a tampon soaked in vodka up my ass. Last night, I couldn't stop staring at this hideous creature that sadly enough seemed to be a lady. She had stringy green hair that looked like cheap yarn and horribly fuzzy sailor tattoos splattered across her arms and her face. I stared and stared until she demanded I buy her a drink. It's a fee you owe me for staring, she said. So I bought her a PBR and a shot and she told me her name was Claire. What do you do, Claire? I asked. This was before all the words came out drenched in syrup. I am a dancer, she said. I stared at her in disbelief. You mean a stripper? I asked and probably did a terrible job hiding my repulsion, because she said it looked good on me. Then she also said she could eat fire with her pussy. At least that's what I thought she said. Right then it had gotten really loud (some Metal band) and all the pills I had taken at P's house started doing silly things to my head. We were, once again, in some dive on St. Claude.
You haven't seen bad neighborhoods if you haven't been to N'awlins.
P ditched me to have drunken fights with her boyfriend. I danced with an alluring creature in baseballs pants that later tried to choke me with a limp tongue.
And then I woke up on Claire's floor. She was passed out on a mattress with a 250 pound clown while that Almodovar flick, All about my mother, was playing on the TV. It felt like I was trapped in an art installation.
I had to get out of there fast, back to the Cornstalk that daddy's dollars paid for. Daddy who said I deserved to get ass-raped.
And now I am in East Texas, on my way to Austin to see J who studies there. I hope she has nice activities planned.

It's a bowl and it's going to fill up

Haven't been back here since the days of Katrina – that wretched bitch. I remember the rude awakening after a coke-bender with Frankie. Waking up with black licorice vodka puke in your hair is not funny, nor is it cute. The air outside his air-conditioned sanctuary felt as if someone had shoved a blow dryer into my mouth. There were unknown chunks of recycled food stuff stuck in my teeth and to the roof of my mouth. On the radio the mayor kept on saying over and over: This city is a bowl and it's going to fill up.
We hitched a ride with some drunken lunatics, on the back of a baby-blue pick-up truck. We didn't know where to go, but couldn't go west so we drove north. And ended up, twelve hours later, at some crowded motel in Mississippi. Crying kids and trailer trash hussies with dollar bills underneath their well-worn bra straps.
I remember it feeling weird that people weren't staring at me.
The storm came our way in the morning. By then the sheer force had been matted by all the oak trees and people it had run into. The winds were still strong and unpredictable, throwing sheets of rusty metal and young trees into the street as we were headed for Dallas.
I hurt from letting Frankie fuck me that night. That sex felt more like exercise than anything else.
Back in 2005 what the fuck did I know?
And now, the air is still sticky. And I keep getting fucked up.
But last night I was so overcome by sadness. Too bad. It was a really cool bar in a sketchy neighborhood. There was talk of drive-by shootings.
Met up with R and O. They are still here.

Bourbon Street

there's been tropical rain and hurricanes. friends don't let friends blog drunk, but since i don't have any friends to stop me right now, i am doing it anyhow.
checked into the Cornstalk hotel, blowing daddy's money. it's nicer from the outside. inside it's like a funhouse, with leaning floors and a faint mold smell. probably vampires in the attic.
i was in some whorehouse looking bar, off Bourbon Street when this girl said she'd give me a new wave haircut for $5. she was dressed in rags. well, boho chic or something. but she had beautiful almond shaped eyes, and a creamy dark smooth voice, so of course i said: yes, do with me as you like. i have bald spots now. cab you believe i still bought her a shot while fantasizing about molesting her?
in some dingy-ass sandwich shop i got a so-called po'boy called "disco." it had slimy shrimps swimming in mayo on it. and then, in a dimly lit alleyway, the kind you get mugged in, i thought i saw a leprechaun slinking away.

I also encountered these lovely ladies. I would have suggested something if I wasn't so damn wasted and cross-eyed from three Hurricanes.

this is so intense

first time I heard about it, I just knew I had to come here. who are the people behind this? it's a true American mystery and i love mysteries. and david lynch. when there's a riddle to ponder I feel so alive.
but too soon I'll be dead. and that's a thought i am only able to shake when my heart is bloody pulp. only heartache cures existential anxiety.

maintain population under 500,000,000 in perpetual balance with nature.

guide reproduction wisely – improving fitness and diversity

be not a cancer on earth – leave room for nature – leave room for nature.

i guess me, myself and I in one huge-ass gas guzzler is a cancer on earth