auf wiedersehen, Berlin!

sorry about my absence, but I've been to busy teaching myself how to hypnotize, how to cook a tasty meal and all about black magic.

the only thing I didn't try was baking a cake containing my period blood and feeding it to my lost love.

she probably would have refused anyway. she will have nothing to do with me.

the allure of this city is fading. this morning the sky looked like acid wash jeans. i think it's time to leave. back to dad and his patchouli stank and hurtful remarks.

menopause at 20

is it possible? these hormons of mine i want nothing to do with them. they wreck havoc on my psyche. this carbonated being-in-love-feeling turned into a rage so black i was blinded. julia showed off her underwear at this party, and i turned into a jealous brute. i am not like this, I swear. I put my fist through a wall, plaster splinters flying and blood on my knuckles. julia was naturally disgusted.
she said: it's over.

before it even begun.

i wandered the whole night, feeling so lost until this gypsy lady saved me on a bridge with her accordion.

now i am conjuring a plan to get Julia back.

do you have a king? no, but we had hitler

even though the germans indeed are very german i am liking it here a lot. they say it's like paris in the 20's, NY in the 80's. enjoy the crumbly buildings, doused in graffiti, smeared in dog shit. the witch-looking lady yelling at you for breaking the law, i.e, crossing the street on foot before the light turned green.

last night i caught up with matt r, a buddy from New Orleans that was here on tour with a band from Omaha, Nebraska, called The Box Elders. I think I fell in love with the drummer. But then I also fell in love with Julia, a raven-haired German girl who stood close to be and engulfed me in her cotton-candy breath.

Berlin

hertha told me; it rains a lot here. last night I was jetlagged and woozy as we got caught in the rain on our bicycles. dizzily we cruised down Karl-Marx Allee, taking in the imposing Stalinist architecture and then, having cocktails at Café Moskva. The bartender was fat and bored. Then onto White Trash where we made out in the underground bathroom stall while Lust for Life blared from the speakers.

We attempted to fuck in her bedroom but all our limbs went limp and we passed out. This morning as I watched her sleep with an open mouth, I thought; could I be falling in love? And I started to plan our life together here in Berlin until she farted and my feelings evaporated.

therapy, travel and tramadol

i went to the cemetery today. it's certainly not pere lachaise. not even minus the pathetic jim m-fans. but still, it's one of my favorite spots in this smog barrel of a town.

i left a sunflower bouquet on my mother's grave. then i sat down, cross-legged in the grass, and tried really hard to feel her spirit. i felt nothing but an unexplored part of the grayscale descending on me.

I've felt really lonely and I have masturbated a lot. So much in fact, that it's starting to bore me. I need triple action: therapy, travel and tramadol.

Off to Berlin on Sunday. Now I'll go cruising down Mullholland Drive.

stoned and touchy-feely

there's only one thing that's worse than dad being unkind and insensitive. And that is when he's stoned and touchy-feely. the night before last he pulled my bra-strap so it snapped against my back. it echoed like an M-16 in my head. when I turned around he pulled me in for a hug and started talking about a cake I had baked, like three years ago. his one hand was like a windshield wiper on my back. i was terrified that his hand would slide down, as if by accident.

i got my passport. i am buying a ticket to Berlin in the next few days.

was supposed to go to a house party with s, but she stood me up. that hurt, and not at all in proportion.

i had this friend

she was a good friend, a fun girl. a bitch you could drink jägermeister with until sunshine was ripping into the sky again. she was a fearless, unstoppable redhead who would stagedive head first at all ages shows.

she took pride in having the nastiest farts. she used to float down the river on pieces of styrofoam, giant mushrooms in her potbelly.

now she's a blonde. in love. she forgives her man any sin he's ever committed. she's like my dead mother.

she's demure. hides her sexy overbite behind her hand whenever she feels the need to smile. which isn't often anymore.

she's on a permanent diet. he thinks she's too thick. i think he's too thick. and now she is too, by default. for putting up with this low-life loser.

You give women a bad name!!

You are needy. You let men step on you. Hell, you let them beat you black and blue. You love them anyway. And turning the other cheek is what you do. Where's your fist girl? WHERE'S YOUR FIST?!?

i should count beads and wishes

when you are young, you should be able to bounce back like a rubber band. you shouldn't have wrinkles on your cheeks and big garbage bags underneath bloodshot eyes two damn days after a night of debauchery
my body is achy all over. even my toes hurt. i should check into an ashram.

i should count beads and wishes.

I don't want to shit corn. And I don't want to have warts on my pussy.
my bodily urges are leading me down the wrong path.

dad was here earlier. he is the expert at stating the obvious: you look like shit.

halloween was a blast though. met a Norwegian black metal band. They didn't need no damn costumes, but blended in just fine.