i think it is a guy and girl, first serious relationship -- living
together, pseudo-goths, wearing a lot of black and clunky silver
jewelry, constantly whining about how no one understands them.
they will break up when she catches him fucking a blonde food
service worker that he lured into his lumpy bed by quoting his deep
poetry while looking at his feet, as if he were embarrassed by
the emotion and talent and utter fantasticness that was tumbling
from his lips.
the blonde thinks that he will be her savior and will take her
with him when he becomes a rich and famous poet.
robin will find them when she comes home early from her job at the
record store, carrying ice cream as a treat.
she will throw it and it will hit the smoke stained wall then drip
all over the warped hard wood floors, joining the puddles of melted
wax from the ever burning candles, the burn marks from the
incessant incense and the water marks from sweaty microbrew beer
bottles. she will leave, move in with her parents, go back
to school and become an administrative assistant.
he will take the food service girl with him as far as lincoln
nebraska where she will get a job at a pancake house and
eventually marry a nice local boy. he will go on to san francisco
where no one will care either except a small and sleazy group
of predatory overweight married old men who will pay him to read
his poetry while they take him from the rear.
should i remember him?
i think i'd remember someone like this,
this aimless rambler who so wants to be
gen-x and so misses the boat completely
like he is waiting for it out in the middle
of a dry cornfield in nebraska
hello! first day at hypocrites
anonymous? i mean, really...
hi, my name is jay p
and i'd just like to say that
no matter what you think
nothing i say will be about
you i mean it might seem like
it's about you and everyone
else here in the room may
think it's about you but really
nothing i say will be about you.
and, uh, don't get too mad about it
'cuz i'm a man of peace y'know but
if you yell at me i'm gonna have to
brought to you by the letter k, katrina grace craig © 1997-2002