sometimes it is so hard and sometimes it oozes out like Mrs. B's

cos i'm squeezing that bitch so soft & gentle. got to 75 pages of Homegirl! this weekend and it's halfway there. want to know why sometimes the words are bricks lodged in my mind and the bricks're building walls and catapulting obscenity strewn bricks and graffiti bricks and sno-cones and 80s madonna bangles and hipster irony at me and then sometimes they slide easily from my mind and it's a playground and there's a big metal merry-go-round and wood chips and monkey bars and it's dangerous and fun and i'm a kid missing teeth and i'm collecting teeth in the wood chips and i'm gonna put them in my pocket and they will sprout words and they will speak to me and i will not be lonely and the words will come through my fingers and grow more and more.

i am gonna get a tattoo that says homegirl! and maybe it'll be a tramp stamp. i'm gonna get a tattoo & that'll finally make me a tramp. i'll hobo my heart cross your U.S. i'll hobo my words and teeth until they are fireflies in your memory and you will put them in a jar and shake them and when they die and are only desiccated insecty things you'll realize how ugly your memories were all along. then you'll get a tattoo & it won't be words & it won't be pictures & your tattoo'll firefly you across the U.S. & you'll follow me, you'll skateboard on my ass but you'll never catch me cos i'm freighting, i'm train-hopping, i'm amtraking, i'm free & freeganning and i dropped all that extra weight in your jar; i left it with you to drag you down.

right now i am just musicing. i am listening to what Casualty listens to when he's not comatosestoned and what Homegirl listens to when she thinks of her boys and what Richboy listens to after he's crushed that tadpole and what Punkboy listens to when he's all postsex mellow nostalgiacy cos some Punkboys listen to more than punk and they read words that were once pocketed teeth, too.

Yours in training,
Ryder