Still no O.

This morning, there was a mexican with a chainsaw walking across the yard. Yestrday, there was a rottwiler with a bloody neck, where his chain had rubbed it raw.

I have literary blue-balls from lack of time and ability to ejaculate my built-up words upon pages and screens.

I am also overrun by bloody English in their infernal, hormonally twisted bloodiness.

Listening to every cafe scene taped in mostly chronological order from every les mis recording you can possibly imagine,a nd one or two bootlegs. Right now, I am being prostelytized to in French.

Going to the animal shelter to see if they picked up my kitty. Whimper. It's been too hot. Work at 6.

Want to see Michael Crawford in Dance of the Vampires. Ooh. A le Volunte du Peuple.

je ne suis pas, je pense.

<<agé chose>>

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