journal entry

06/03/09

I rode to work today. Because I haven’t touched my bicycle in so long it had begun to atrophy, its muscles were tired and it’s tires low.

Maria was sleeping in the other room.

As I pumped, a repetitive thumping pulsated from the hallowed wood floor, filling the apartment. It sounded like an oak-limbed pirate splurging his scurvy in rhythm, his one non-patched eye rolling back in his skull.

Once the pirate had cum and my tires had firmed I rode away.

The pre-storm California air felt good on my skin. The hills propelled me west and Melrose hugged my left side.


You were on my mind. A week ago we had arrived in Paradise, my paranoia had begun to subside and my calf-skin loafers had begun to fill up with sand as white and squeaky as lab mice. Your normally pin-straight hair splayed down your back, curving from the humidity. Your nose was shiny and your eyes were clay-red and speckled as ever.

I thought about your colors. My cogs spun and La Cienega fast approached.