Pen and paper journalI always wanted to keep a real-
-pen and paper-
journal but I consistenly failed
not because I had nothing to write but
there was no one to read it and maybe
I had nothing to write but that's the point, making stuff up and I didn't
sully up the pages of such a beautiful, beaded, sequined yellow-parchment and ribbons
but might as well
it was a gift
and my friend
wrote a personal note in the inside cover
so it couldn't be returned and
I wanted to carry it around and see
people's faces and sense their awe
write something. So if you're reading this
prepare for lame poetry and acts of
I want to
put this moment in my pocket and make a plaster cast to hang above my bed leaving the actual moment to languish on a shelf so I can dust it every day and behold its radiance
spin this moment into fine gold thread and weave it into sailcloth and use it to catch the wind and set my raft into motion
- -and use the remainder to sew together quilt pieces and wrap it around me when the wind gets harsh
sublimate this moment and keep the vapour in an ornamental carafe to spray on my pulse points in formal situations
shape this moment with soft laser light and form the moment into rose-colored lenses to permanently obscure and define my vision
hide this moment under my mattress and read it in times of desperation as a reminder of sweet guilty reality
crystallize this moment and stir it into bitter black coffee with a liberal dose of irish cream
paint a mirror to reflect this moment forever
wrap this moment around a globe so I might turn the moment this way and that, look at it from al
"Particleboard falls apart really easy. Those Styrofoam beds are impossible to sleep on. I can't stand the smell of Swedish food."
"Even the meatballs?"
"Even the meatballs."
"But they're so cute."
"Sure, they're cute. But every time we go there, I have premonitions of salmonella and e coli infections. You know what they say. In Mexico, don't drink the water. In Sweden, don't eat squished up pieces of animal flesh."
"It's not my fault that you have something against Scandinavians."
"I have nothing against Scandinavians. I fucking love Scandinavians."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I love Scandinavians. I hate their futons."
"Why do I think futons aren't really the problem?"
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I think you're insecure about the size of your futon."
"I don't have a futon. It's impossible to find a good futon around here."
"No, I mean your futon futon."
"I think you're insecure because you think Scandinavian futons are maybe bigger and better. And you wish you had a S