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My room-mate Aurora (no, that's not the joke), she says that guys always hit on her when she's in line at the food-bank. But since she's on crystal meth and never eats, why else would she be there? She says the most common pick-up lines are

1. Haven't I seen you here before?

2. Where do you work?

3. Do you have your own alleyway?

4. Oh, I'm sorry, did I knock your cornflakes over?

....................(with the more subtle varient, Would you recommend this particular brand of cornflakes? I've never tried them before)

5. And fivally, the sadly universal bravado, Do you slum here often?

6. And sixally,
.........Is that a rotting eggplant in your coat pocket that is now leaking it's juices over that disgusting hippie skirt,
or are you just glad to see me?

Yabadabadoo.

Tie my kangaroo down, boys, tie my kangaroo down

*

Actually, Aurora's a pretty tough chick. When Mohammed from the 7-11 finally got the nerve to ask her what she thought of Frank Jest's second cousin Brian's goldfish, she immediately replied "I don't."

But I've finally figured it out. She's working for the French Government.

*

Yes, it does take immigrants a while to get used to our ways. I was talking to a guy at the bus-stop this morning and I asked him where he was from. He said he was from Africa. I was polite, but firm. I said, "We don't say Africa anymore. We say Africa-America."



*
Hey, check out this idea for a collage. A photograph of the Twin Towers, all flames and smoke billowing out. One tower is saying to the other "Oh, please just hold me!"

And the other tower replies, "I feel like something is dying inside me."


and the title, at the bottom?....... Oh, You Crazy Kids!

*

What's the capitol of Hope, Massachusetts?............Don't know, never been there

On the night of the sixth, Aurora Borealis was just hanging, when God leaned down and had a little candle-light talk with her. He said, Fuck you, you're on your own.

So these days, she mainly watches videos.

And yet, it is a beautiful and unforgettable name.

*

my faced west posture is slipping



hairline-sky and pumpkin, skimming the yellow tambourine with your fingertips of kinetic lace and borrowed wheelbarrows of vasectomies. She likes to watch teriyaki plastic dive, being born under the green zodiac of mirror, but won't empty, or hesitate upstairs at westlake mall, where my work is flat and circular, the avenue b sees food in discovery park is easy to find. Hopping onto 17 on friday with my cellphone punching a joke hat of irish saturdays as far as doing it as soon as possible that's not really a throat-snoring deal for a side-sleeper with lakeside positioning of my kleptomaniac boyfriend who punches the floor to teddybear the sprawling research, my viridiana's bracelet.

daze on a chinese friday my undulating princess is moving in upstairs to the parking lot, lets box, 8 years of pies in summer is cool.



so we rode the french turtle to ecuador, bulging salmon in the basement sent the cats crazy as hairpins in a bowl of musical instruments called trevor, and placed most of the week under house-arrest, heart drank the chipped broth of how burnt oil makes your eyes squint, my squirrel, and the door placed on self-explode, which caused frank jest to holler, "My part-time studies in chinese caligraphy wil never buy me a dog!" Apart from a black cat, things have been kinda troublesome around here. No-one takes out the garbage, and I can't get into the bed. By the time you feed this bear on a dozen railroad tracks, it will be a duck's midnight of fallopian cheese-cake, and a trifle late rotten fruit in dave's mouth is circling the street like a candle, and as you know if I could sing well I wouldn't even be doing this.

the teacher asks the class if any of them know what they want to be when they grow up. Long silence.

then davey higgins, quietest boy in the class, suddenly raises his hand. "Yes, miss. I want to be a dollar sign, miss."




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