Spring 2000, getting ready to follow The Cure across the USA on their Dream Tour.
I am saving the money for the trip by working several jobs at a time, including a short stint where I train to be a U.S. Census Interviewer in the evenings:
(from the bug's conversation)
"Boy, this is boring!"
"Yeah, but tonight is fifty bucks for doodling!"
My preferred writing exercise is stream-of-consciousness nonsense poems:
With The Main
The lost wreck of time
Is an incandescent fury
Fluttering pell and mell
Underwater glory
Is there a this
A fat hat in the hare
Mary god save us
Not got a care
Jesus jeans and blue collar
Factories puffing smoke
Blue lined prophets
Small down and broke.
Lordy what is this o
What shall we do
When there is no we
No we, no we
I want ta eat my big breakfasts
Holy ranger teenage sneeze
The third world overlooks us
Elder abstract rage
What is this obsession
With the main ?with the main ?with the main?
*********************
Don't ask me what the hell it means.
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