Super-psyched and super-stoked Sleep. Snort. Fuck. just took one of my stories. The story's a chapter from my new angry-girl novel, Homegirl!
The editor said much nicey-nice things about my story and I got this feeling that we could be friends. I read some of her fiction and I liked it and not because she was nice and said nicey-nice things but because it gave me the feeling like I wanted to hide under it. I wanted to hide under her story like a poor homeless person'd hide under their newspaper tent on a sidewalk grate in winter. I wanted to hide under it cos otherwise I felt like I would be doing things to my head like homemade lobotomies with pre-chilled railroad spikes. I wanted to hide cos I was forever and ever doing stupid things like sexting my ex-lover a cliche pizza delivery scenario and then when he didn't respond I sexted him again cos I knew he was offended by the cliche and expected so much more of me.
So I sexted him something about when it rains it pours, but instead of rain I put pussy and instead of pours I said come and get it.
Mama hates to be ignored except when she's hiding under stories that remind her of fucking or stories that remind her of humans or stories that remind her.
I am going to get a tattoo that says don't forget in French.
I am going to get a tattoo that says fuck you in French & will tell everyone it means sister.
I am going to get a tatt of a smaller tatt of a smaller tatt of a smaller tatt of a smaller tatt ad infinitum until I can't stand how clever I am anymore or any of the live-living things I have to do day in and out as a human.