idea- craigslist hijacker puts up want ad for someone to teach him to drive their car aka let me kidnap you

what is love but

what is love but one lizard trying to catch the other?

the other one, darting away

the glimpse of

the curve of

a tail. the thought of all those little lizard feet.

its enough to make me cry, daddy.

wear am i going to go with a lizard

wearing these shoes, my boa constrictor belt

made in Turkey by orphans

and love-starved slaves. Where have I seen them before?

All with their heads down, those limp bandanas they wore

wrapped around their heads

they held up their heads,

the snow caps in the background glistening.

show me the winter lizard.

i do not believe he exists.

//////////

show me the winter lizard


I do not believe it exists,

the snowcaps in the background,

their held up heads

those limp bandanas they wore,

those love starved ones-

Where have I seen them before?

Maybe in Turkey. Orphans,

wearing boa constrictor shoes.

Where am I going to go with a Lizard?

Its enough to make me cry, daddy.

the tail, all those little lizard feet.

the curve of

the glimpse of

the other one, darting away.

midnight in paris

The minute I knew he was going to leave, it changed everything. Where I had at first thought longingly of being awake and alone in the apartment, I had suddenly turned attached to the arm of his jacket. These are hard shoes to walk in. Elephant shoes. Now I am on the porch and alone, the neighbor I saw in the kitchen is gone. There is only the lingering chirp of the late night college students two floors above. And I must be talking to the bannister.

MFA/1136380/3173268

fran lebowitz

This is racism pure and simple. It is not hard to figure this out, and we now live in an environment where it is worse to call someone a racist than it is to be one.

excerpt fran lebowitz interview

The war era?
Right. Every English person that age, always the first thing they tell you is they talk about rationing and what they’re talking about is rationing of candy because they were children. This never leaves them. You would think they were survivors of Auschwitz, you know? "We only got this much candy ever!" I love Nick Tosches as a writer. I think he’s a fantastic writer and he would always be a great choice, I think, but he’s not English so maybe it’s better to have an English person.

Are you still playing drums?

the day i meet fran leibowitz

fran leibowitz said to me, "you're young, you'll come up with someone better" to qualify, i said "it cant be too important" and she said to me "thats why its dangerous...its better to say "they evaporated off the face of the earth". it was something cliff peacock would say. Or Nick Nolte in the short film in New York Stories which is not directed by Woody Allen, but by somebody else. Fran says she has never met Woody Allen...she says "you think thats an accident? She has the kindest saddest eyes, such a dark blue. She is smaller, as we all are, in real life. A friend once told me I was smaller in real life. And he'd only ever seen me in real life. Is it no accident the hardest thing in the world for us to do is sit in one place and not eat or drink or read or speak?

bridge

ill be his dinner if he feeds me/ill be his future if he reads me/ ill be his blanket if he needs me/ ill be his rainy sunday evening/ ill be waiting in the dark / for him/ and singing in the park for him/ and watching all my swear words/ and pulling all his zipcords/ and cleaning his canary cage/ and making our bed

i want me a terry cloth man,
ill be the towel rack he lays upon,
he'll be my little toothbrush
i'll be the toothpaste to put it on

i want me a man whos got a voice like in the movies
hell be my lonesome rider,ill be
the sound of runnin hoofbeats

i want me a man who wakes up just like the sun does
who breathes just like the wind does
and then he settles into dust

i want me a man made a calamine lotion
i'll find him in the ocean
all wrapped up in the sea weed

i want me a man who speaks up when hes sleeping
and knows about the real thing
and never asks the time

i want me a man whos shape is something like a frisbee
who died in san fransisco
and rose again in rome

i want me a man tethered to my ankle
who doees impressions of my uncle
and laughs just like a crow

i want me a man made of sticky note scrawls
who never ever callsme
he just talks into my t.v.

i want me a terry cloth man
ill be the towel rack he lays upon
i'll be the reason when hes gone
i'll be the reason when hes gone

Do I truly aspire to be a snobby new york culture writer?

Do I truly aspire to be a snobbish new york writer? This is the kind of question they should be asking me but are not. Instead they are saying "I've got this friend who makes her own greeting cards and sells them at rural-suburban new england craft fairs..." I woke up the other morning having just suffered a horrifyingly domestic sequence of dreams...in the moment before consciousness my mother was turned to me speaking with a look of blurred dissapointment saying "your tired of lawyers, jessie, its not that you're tired of being a lawyer" I read in a book once that in dreams the house represents the self, if there is a house. Now that I think of it I did not read this iin a book. I heard this off a 5 minute dream analysis segment on a morning talk show from the mouth of a very conservative looking, glossy and insecurely frosted mid 30 year old "dream expert" wearing a dress suit and clutching her hands in her lap. Still, I always think after a dream if I am the house then who is the babysitter? If I am the house, who is my mom?

In the apartment 7 winfield street, we currently employ 10-12 middle aged ladies of varying shapes and sizes on a semi to regular basis. Included in this estrogen rotation is myself, the youngest of the all female all sassy staff and the only live-in and blood related employee of the main subject, jestingly reffered to as nanee on the rare occasion, but most widely introduced and acknowledged and presented as Miss Josephine Zaikis, the main inhabitant and 3/4 loony 94 going on 95 year old of apartment A, 7 Winfield street, South Boston.

quotes

"what is it he's holding...it looked like a bottle of brute cologne."- Jimmy Fallon

"everything's ok if you end it with gIrl"- Wendy Williams

"we are merchants of good humor, if you will"

-CIRCUS

There's no time for love, Charlie Brown: first reply

The door handle signs I collected
one night, off the sidewalks and in between the bushes
of South Boston (they are bright blue with large white lettering)
read VOTE TODAY! I will not vote today.
The outcome, unlikely, should there be one,
is no longer the point. The importance
of things has dwindled down
into the chewability of an english muffin,
and who should stock the freeer? And what should be stocked,
and all that should be tossed away.

It is with joy that I voice my opinion
of the long rehearsed practice of the english mud-muffin,
the long forgotten records. It is with great and undue indignatio
that I respond to my mother's querie of where the jelly is,
or may have been, or certainly had once been.
I scoff (proudly) at the insinuation of jelly,
for I have seen no jelly slabbed or spread
or eaten here. For,
I have been her a long time.

Lately I have ducked my ears beneath the water,
which runs cold before I remember to remember
it will run cold, in the claw foot tub (my newest lover).
This old woman once scrubbed the sand from me,
and what is stranger,
my brother and I once shared a bath,
before the proper experiments had all
been conducted and, of course, he'd found me
hopeless. And just yesterday it seems, I saw him po out
in California. CAN YOU BELIEVE we strolled along
Venice Beach, all four of us-- of course,
he and my father walked slightly ahead, but
there were the skateboarders, the obscene couples,
attempting to reach each others' brains with their tongues,
and perhaps,
he found them brave. As the California salesmen tried
and tried to sell us pot, and as I could safely say,
you live here, Erik, and I do not.
And safely as nothing could be done about that,
and safely as nothing could be said about the state of CALIFORNIA
or of all things, or of bath tubs. Yes, as safely as that
I could fly through the air and past oceans and towns, away from you.
I could not pay attention to any of it. As safely as that,
I could return.

note to self: steve allen, banksy, elsa phillips, the old school comedian who reminds my mother of nane with her teeth out (check)