message in a bottle

i dread apathy. i just sit and stare. no writing. i thumb through poe's entire works over and over poking at the macabre, sometimes dharma bums by kerouac, rucksacks and trains and times when you could hitch across the continent safely and everyone fuckin loved the trumpet. try to think what it would be like to be them.

i just hide out in my room. pet my dog. keep the blinds closed. pop out when it all blows over and everyone is so happy, "courtney!! where ya been?" hoppin trains with buddha. smokin in jazz clubs with ginsberg. y'know. same old same old.

posted by Courtney at 2:00 a.m.

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