Set the trees on fire
we'll seek our answers in the air.

Jessica, Pt. Forever

So I finally (finally!) finished a complete draft of the Jessica story. Its way too long to post here, and still rough towards the end but if anyone wants to read it for me and give me their opinion (especially the ending, on which I am very ambivalent) I would be much appreciative. It's about 19 pages long in Word. I'm also thinking of changing their names.

Possible titles?
"The Second Jessica"
"The Animals have Human Names"
"River Horse"
"Death Rides a Hippopotamus"
"Uncaged: The Shocking True Story of one Family's Nightmare Pet!"
"Pets with People Names"
"Meanwhile, in South Africa"
"A Detailed Library of the Bestiality of Others"
"2 Fast 2 Furious: Tokyo Drift"

None of these are blowing my mind except the last one.

leave a comment with an email address if you're interested. i'm not sure if anyone reads this.

PICK UP CHICKS ON THE BUS.

Found this in a text file on my computer at work. It's good advice.
________________

PICK UP CHICKS ON THE BUS.

The best way, is to pretend you are from a place not local! You can say you are checking out the city for the day, and wanted to know a cool club. Normally, you’d try to hit up with a girl on a Friday, because if she’s game, she’s probably going out on that day! If you are hitting up a chick on a weekday, what you want to do is talk about museums. You can say you are here to check out the arts.

How do you know when you meet the one..

he lived like a pendulum that was too fat to swing one way or the other.

she wears her past like a pervert.

starving for space, aching for time, a mask watches all things.

small cellos for small people: an autobiography.

I hope to live my life as a series of escalating pipe dreams, like a boy mesmerized by the wind.

There was a red moon hanging in a blue-black sky.

A golden coin rolling on the velvet sheets.

She sang her songs on the missionary's roof.

In soft, supple tones, shining sweetly like the sea.

Bathing naked in the red lunar light.

Arms tied, hair pulled, legs spread.

On the missionary's roof.


The walls weep milk from tiny roving eyes.

he delivers bad news in the whitest of white lab coats.

write a story about a four-course meal from the point of view of a fork.

i sit in offices all day thinking about how we sit in offices all day thinking about liberation.