tim: and they're like "woaaahh, shoegazer rafe. he sounds deep...he, like, disappeared. i think he walked to mexico."



*sigh*



rock n roll, rock n roll.

my horoscope, according to the onion:



Scorpio: (Oct. 24—Nov. 21)

It's not true that your best days are behind you. It's true that almost all of your days are behind you, but the best ones are yet to come.



i'm going to the buzz tomorrow. and i'm gonna smoke some cigarettes and work on some lyrics. i wanna die alone and unloved. so far i'm on the right track.

Now Playing: radiohead - how to disappear completely



dad gave me his backing to drop out of school, and do the rock n roll thing 100%. so i'm going to. megs was right (bless her). things are pretty good. now when i'm filling out paperwork, i can put "musician" as employment. i'll probably end up going back to school at some point. but hey, i'm halfway through, so i'll only be half as much in debt when i have to pay for it.



last night i was with a girl, sitting on the concrete steps of the apartment building, looking up, she laying against me, my face against her neck and my arms around her. she smelled of dried lemons and incense, and the nautical smell of a caravel (the wood and tar and the salt and hot metal in the sun). the air was warm close to the concrete steps, but it was clear and the stars were starting to come out, just barely outshining the glow of the city lights. i was still alone, but less lonely. i hope she was too.

The cuffs were not sharp but they had edges that bit into my skin, not tight but ratcheted and locked, solid and unbreakable.

The policeman took me by the arm and listened as Mrs. Mary and Mr. Kauser and the intern Stephanie discussed whether they could get to the squad car in the loading dock bay from the security office. Mr. Kauser was the head of security for the bookstore, and though he hadn't taken it easy on me, he hadn't been mean to me. As I was being led out, I said "I'd shake your hand, but circumstances don't permit," and thanked him with a shrug. He chuckled and shook his head, looking away and straightening some papers on his desk. Through the stockroom we went, Stephanie first – pierced lip and a nose ring , dressed in black, purple knit purse hanging at her hip – she'd been ready to get off work. Irony, I'd had a class with her long ago. Then the policeman – tall and broad in his charcoal uniform, he was getting old: grey showed in his hair and in his mustache, and behind his glasses, his eyes were steely and tired. His face was long, and seemed somewhat melted. His name was Bradley Davidson. I was led past the tall steel shelves overflowing with books and paper, with folders and pens, brown cardboard boxes everywhere, brown cardboard sheets on the floor. The Mexicans working at the loading dock looked at me with a look of mute disinterested curiosity on their faces, nodding appreciatively at what was happening. my bag, my jacket, and the stolen goods went into the trunk of the squad car. I was surprised at how dexterous Officer Davidson was, moving one handed. Stephanie took her seat up front, and Officer Davidson buckled my seatbelt, in the rear passenger seat. He had some trouble finding the buckle receptacle, because the backs of squad cars are rather small, so I held it for him with one cuffed hand, leaning back so he could snap the seatbelt into place. He thanked me, and I him.

"Well, let's see," he said to stephanie after taking his place behind the wheel, and pulling out of the loading bay. "We need to pick up Bagly at the turn around, and then to the JJC. are we we going to have to take him to the station? I think they have a 4427 athe the JJC."

Stephanie nodded, and said "Yeah, I think they should…"

We glided along in that silent short way that police cars move, between the buildings, through gaggles of students. All the while, sun poured in through the windows. The clouds of the morning had broken after my arrest.

The car pulled to a stop, and another officer opened up the rear drivers side door and got in next to me, crouching to get in, and putting his campaign hat in the rear shelf.

"Hi Brad! how's it going?" he said through the plexiglass divider (halfway open).

"Ah, I'm doing fine," Officer Davidson replied.

"Hello, Prisoner," this other policeman said to me. "How's the Prisoner today?"

"Oh," I said with a rueful smile, "I'm doing ok. and you?"

"Doing well."

His name tag, silver on his left breast pocket, said M. Bagly. He was short and stocky, in the same charcoal grey uniform, with brown hair and a neat brown mustache. He had an intelligent look about him, he looked like the sort of person who would wear a sweater and read Hemingway with a cat.

Officer Davidson spoke up.

"Hey Mike, do you know if JJC has the 4427's, or do we need to go down to the station?"

"Yeh, yeah, they have them." Officer Bagly spoke rapidly, but clearly. "Stephanie, you can just go up front, and sign the affadavit. We'll just take the prisoner around back."

We were now in a residential area, pretty close to downtown…a brick building, looking like a hospital: brown brick with cream stone trim, big mirrored windows, and a full parking lot. The car stopped up front, and let Stephanie out. It was the last time I saw her.

Officer Bagly leaned forward.

"Have you been here since they remodeled, Brad?"

"Nah…what's it like?"

"You'll see…just pull around here."

We pulled up to a large steel door, set into the basement level wall, a large steel door painted blue, and hinged. The words "POLICE ENTRANCE" were stenciled across the door. There was a call box.

"OK," said Officer Bagly, "Just push the button, like over at the SSC."

"Hello – this is Davidson bringing the 550 from the University bookstore."

A sonorous female negro voice came back, snappy and happy: "Why, hello Brad! just come on in!"

The door slowly collapsed inward, and we pulled forward.

Officer Davidson laughed, and said "This is pretty cool." Officer Bagly just beamed.



coming next: the stay at juvie.



as you can gather, i was arrested today. for shoplifting a text book. i didn't want to ask my parents for money, even though i know they could give it to me. they're good people, but i don't want to take from them, any more.



when i got out they wanted to know why. i told them because text books were over priced, because i didn't want to ask them for money, and i didn't want to go to school in the first place.



"don't you want to get a college degree?" they say. "don't you know what you want in your future?"



so i nod and say yes for their benefit. but i have a hard enough time justifying staying alive.



i don't know i don't know.

Now Playing: Metallica - the Unforgiven



the weekend was momentous.



i "broke up" with dave, i suppose. we're still friends and all, and we didn't have a fight or anything, it's just that we're no longer best friends. it's kind of sad, he's given up on trying to be anything more than a good old boy from ohio, and he's become just another guy. he's joining the air force when he graduates (in the spring). he's been really nice about the band thing, though, he's gonna keep drumming for us until we find another drummer.



the show last night sucked, only some of dave's stupid middleclass moron friends showed up. they kept saying "Jack the Ripper." so we turned up our amps as loud as we could, and made as much grating, high pitched noise as possible. i fucking hate them. taylor's girlfriend called during the sound check to tell him that she was leaving him. rather abrupt. not pleasant.



taylor and i went out after the show, i was so pissed off. i took the .38 out with me, but i couldn't find any shells. i wanted to blow something away. i think it was a good thing i didn't find any bullets. i don't think i would have hurt anyone, though.



after a while we ended up at the festival at the park. taylor wanted something to drink, but we spotted two lovely young ladies. a dilemma i posed to mr. meizlish (taylor's last name): "girls or soda?" he hummed and hawed, and said "girls." turned out to be a wise choice. very nice, very interesting, very attractive girls: linda and allie. we walked together for a bit, and decided to play scrabble the next day. course, after church (taylor, out of the goodness of his jewish heart, was subbing for a friend in the Lutheran(!) church's band), we ended up spending the whole day with the girls. we played scrabble in the cemetary, went to the buzz, saw a portion of a kickass movie named Spun, and engaging in rather shocking behavior. this is the stuff of blackmail, dear readers.



and at the bottom of THIS page, you can see two of our most recent fliers (visible all over clifton and ludlow). collect 'em all kids.

tuesday

when the sun shines

and every little person

decides to keep a hold of their mind

i'm murky and still behind mirrored lenses

and white clapboard fences



the end.



-----



when i was a little boy, i'd sit on the swing in the back yard with my grandmother, and eat cheesecake and drink iced tea. the dog would sit on the picnic table, and look at me, ears up and alert and wanting but not having. the breeze would blow, and the sun would brown the grass, but we were fine, because we were in the shade, swinging back and forth, listening to the wind rasp the leaves, and rush the waves of grass in the fields.



the dog still wants but does not get. my grandmother lost her mind, she's wasted away and will die soon. and as for me, i grew up and did things that i would never imagine doing as a boy.



-----



i'm losing my sense of humour. and i have lost courage to say the things that kill. i'm telling you i'm sorry. i wish i'd known. i'm telling you, you that made me, i miss you. i think if i had you i would never want us to wake up again, but stay unconcious and quiet, breathing silently and together warm.



-----



confessions come like orgasms, and i watch, the way she blushes and leans forward to share, glowing that she can tell this secret that she's carried tied up inside, twisting it like a rubber band inside, and i bet she even feels a warm mush in her stomach spreading through her. and i keep a face that is careful and i'm drinking my coffee and the light is orange orange orange she had a breakdown later in the car, crying, and i had my arm around her.



she'd gloat if she saw me now. godless pagan that i always was and now she doesn't have love to hold her feelings back.

consider this:



bullets, no socks.



-----

d-r-u-g-s spells "saturday."

but not in reality, because really, nothing happened.

nicotine affects me still, and alcohol, i love you. it's my corner to curl up in and see to the sound and fury, to be alone (but i never am), and to laugh a laugh of a bulletproof cupid. simplicity. and i'm all about waking up heavy. girls and i go together like razors and warm water. perfect recipe for slitting yr wrists.

-----

this weekend was a busy one, i didn't learn much, except that taylor claims that i don't know how to smoke a joint. ker-razy, buddy. and i drove again...for the first time in three years. first in the cemetary, where i got back into the hang of it. and then into the deserted sam's parking lot - with cones and taylor - for the maneuverability test. which i got after my fourth try.

-----

go

little rekkid

go

-----

once upon a time

she said

that it was like something

that she would have written

-----

bless-ed kate. she's putting up with me while i'm drunk. drunk for artistry's sake, y'know - i'm only doing it so i can write. i sense the wry-ness-ness of you, dear anna T. aha, you say, and proceed to deliniate the reasons (modus operandi) of why (the explanations, dearest) my writings make no sense and do not appeal to your sense of written art, of written perfection, of written brilliance! they don't, in short, because they are the products of a chemically altered conciousness. the likes of which has not been seen around here since last month. and that was cause bekki was here and i was wracked of nerves.



love.



you better believe me when i say it, punk...



oh yeah. NY Dolls. Pills...



except in my case it's



al-kee-hall.

now i see why people get addicted. the show's over, everyone's gone home. and it's so fucking quiet. i'm tired, so tired, but i want to keep playing. i want a woman, and a cigarette, and some alcohol. on the top of a warehouse, like i was telling her.



summer's over.



bekki called, we talked. things are good.



some people showed up for the show tonight, not as many as last time, but everyone was into it, and no one was yelling "Freebird!" or "jack the ripper." played the new guitar today for the first time.



taylor had a migraine, and dave had allergies. but they played anyway. they rule. i'm lucky to have them as friends. they bear with me, through all the stupid stuff i do.

i've been gearing up for the show saturday, and getting over the weekend. things were tense with dave and me, but we solved it monday. sunday night, taylor and i went down to the fireworks on the kentucky side of the river. we were to meet cathy (taylor's girl) and her friend (my "date"). turns out cathy brough eight of her friends, so i smoked and explored. did make an impression eventually, with a parasol and the theft of an orange traffic cone.

after the fireworks, cathy and her crew left rather abruptly, and it depressed taylor. we talked for a long time, and went to white castle. we hit a bar, and i got us a beer. we drank it in the alley behind a bar, smoking cigarettes, too. these two girls came down with this young kid, who was piss drunk. we made fun of him. the girls were fifteen. one was pilled up. we invited them to share our u-haul blanket. the drunk kid wandered off. this woman who we thought was a stripper kept walking by, and me, feeling in need of some disturbance, asked her if she was a stripper. turns out she owned the building, and kicked us out of her alley. the girls asked us to go with them, but then their boyfriends showed up, shooting us sharp glances and telling their girls that we were going to rape them. taylor and i then walked all the way back to fountain square, taking the bridge across the river. dad picked us up and gave us a ride to taylor's, where we played guitar, and then napped for two hours, before getting up to caddy.



yesterday i got my Ibanez Talman paid off, and took it home. it's damn sexy. pix are coming soon - it's black, with creme moto pickguard. also picked up a DS-1 from travis for $5. gonna mod it. today i played it for about seven hours. it's probably one of the nicest guitars i've ever played.



bekki called today. that made me happy. we talked for half an hour, and used up her phone card. so she didn't call her mum (On her birthday even!). but to bekki's cred, she talked to her mum the day before. i went for a walk, listening to the white stripes on the 'phones. sun was going down, it smelt of fat and fish - the smell of ivory soap (99 and 77/100 % pure), and it was cool, for the first time in months. autumn is so near. it's my favourite season, i s'pose.



i'm working on a new song. it involves pills, alleys, and crossing the street. heartpounding, dare i say? and the new story, it's about lots of things. i'm not sure how it ends. but on the good ones, i'm never sure.



i think that's it. but yes. party/show at my house. saturday. 8 pm. be there.