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| So, "Secretary." Maggie Gyllenhall. James Spader. A bit much. Can't handle it. "Cock. Place your prick in my mouth. Screw me." Ah, salivate. Three masturbation scenes, four if you count the anticlimactic self-spanking. Too much to take. Force it upon Alan. You asked for it. Holla back, nigga. I never make sense anymore. I never do homework. I never sell knives. I never am sober... 'cept now, and yesterday, and the day before, although I was supposed to be spunnnnnnnnnn. If you're spun you stay up but I was down four hours after my last line. Must not've been what I was told it was. My hair. Handfuls out. Again, too much to handle. Chad's birthday. Idea: leave eighteen messages on my phone in one day, whydon'tcha. You're toxic, I'm slipping under. Hook up with three different boys in one week... Chad, then Jon, then Raul... hoo boy. Buy lesbian porn, lick a neck and call it a day. Menthol and meth. Two of my favorites which sound like my very own maiden name. Although I'm not much a maiden anymore, am I. No. You do not love me. You don't even know me, so stop, just stop. Where is she? I need her bad. It was Bad Religion yesterday that did it. Number six and number eleven. She was there in the car. Sitting in the back. The seats bumped. I touched her cheek. She closed her eyes. We whispered beautiful secrets cheek-to-cheek, eye-to-glowing-eye. Then I dreamt of Doumani in a wedding dress. I tried not to look but she was right there. Right fucking there. | ||||
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listless.