the preceding was a prose-poem entitled "MY ACHIN' HEAD".

I feel like an undercover spy when i read the online journals of people I don't know and i never tell them that i'm reading it. (also the ones of people I know or have connections to, but that makes me feel more creepy than anything else. i am a large hairy intarnet stalker! i have mishappen bosoms that lump out in weird and hairy ways.) one livejournal i spied on today had passages about printmaking and bookmaking, and i miss it. in chicago i worked with a lady who owned a small book publishing company that assembled and distributed artist's books. tuesdays and wednesdays i spent cutting, sewing, gluing, and otherwise binding books. eventually she trusted me enough to create printing plates in the darkroom. but i think i majorly fucked up the last plates i created for her. i don't know, my internship ended the next day, but i haven't heard from her since. god, i am a reject. it was a book called "Batforum" and it was a spoof on Artforum. it was not good. you can purchase it at A Printed Matter in Soho, NYC. a man at my internship liked to tell me how he used to high off of whippets from industrial sized whipped cream containers when he was young. hahah whippets! i don't mean the small type of dog of the same name.

these entries lately are so half-assed cause i start writing and the nforget how i want to finish it