In the morning he's got to work on his skulls, mapping their teeth and tails. He is a cartographer of bodies' bones' sounds through teeth. Take topographies of those bites you take of me, and of boys young, and of women with heads bound long, and of those sacred among all us fools.

We order them to order ourselves and make marks out of what pieces are missing. We are not those damn animals, we mark our bodies for bliss.

• between eyes
• what sockets the spine
• O', what halo! and the ivory inside it
• the jaw that cradles
  
• the length of legs
  
• digits detach
  
• what was in that grave, exactly?

Waiting for the bus downtown, with a guitar

$12.andsomechange!

Weekend fun.

Saturday: spent making cloth pads and listening to Patsy Cline and Dolly Parton. Realizing that Patsy Cline is pathetic and I am sick of love songs and Fugazi is fine to sew to.

Je m'ouvri le front

From that zine from that notebook that I never printed.

Right now I figger that maybe I just need to get things out of me and into somewhere else so I can fill myself up with new things. It's worth a shot, at least.

Internet city

I made this thing so it seems like I am doing something. I am going to put things on this thing when they happen if they will exist on a computer. Mostly they won't right now. Maybe after Christmas, if my Grandma decides that she likes me as much as she likes my older sister. She might not.

I'm working on a cassette tape. I'm almost done. I am rushing.

Last night I got, "Oh, you're really into cassette tapes, aren't you?"