28 April, 2005
your pretty face is going to hell

"in the in tray lots of work,
but the boss at the firm always thinks he shirks.
but he's just like everyone,
he's got a Ford Cortina,
it just won't run without fuel."

well, not like everyone, maybe.
and the Cortina's haven't run since, oh, 1992... though that may not be etched in stone, by the end of the summer.

so, yeah... the "in" tray... it's kicking my ass. or, my neck and shoulder muscles, more correctly. slaving over the plate imaging software, getting bitched for overworking the platemaking guys, the muscles twisting the ulna and radius in my wristwatch arm getting overdeveloped by the minute... the monotony is palpable.

all i really wanna do, besides experience that much wished for orgasm of tsunami proportions, is get back to that book... Please Kill Me. ironically, it had been gathering dust on the nightstand after Biggles gave it to me for xmas, two years ago. no sooner does he ask me to borrow it, then i get all possessive. well, he's still in 'Nawlins for JazzFest, so it'll be done by the time he gets back.

i'm not quite sure what the holdup was... maybe i thought it would be all stupid no-name band history. WRONG. to this point, it's been the musical history of my adolescence... or my rebellion, more correctly.

as far as personal ancient history is concerned, growing up in rural Virginia, you were supposed to be in the cliques mired in LedZep, or the MoodyBlues or TheStones or football or Jezus or lawn cultivation or something else whose normalcy just didn't appeal to me in the slightest. clique-less, my interests were drawn to Iggy&theStooges, VelvetUnderground, MottTheHoople, NewYorkDolls or any other band that would have been considered hideous by local standards, or had me labeled as a fag or sumthin'. it was lonely being into glitter and proto-punk where the buffalo... or the angus cattle roam.

what the fuck ever. cliquishness never caught on with me... which probably explains why i still write here, when i should be more involved with retirement plans or laxatives or anything normal people consider "practical". practicality has never been my strong suit... and is why i'll be living in a cardboard box, or working until i drop at my workstation.

anyway, this book has been like looking opening the door to a dusty room that hasn't seen habitation in decades... but the furnishings and wall posters and CreemMagazines are all in the places where i left them. Boy fuckin' Howdy.

come to think of it, that place is probably in my grannie's attic... at least, that's where i saved the magazines.

even more ironically, these predilections haven't seem to have diluted since those virginal days. probably because i'm reverting to retroactive virginity... if such a thing is possible, since Yoko shut off the tunnel of love, two+ years ago.

well, nothing is forever.
and my hair gets longer as the beat gets stronger.

that should do for the "shirking'.

.