Why so STOOPID?????

WOULD A REAL CiTY GuRL leave a 14 dollar CASSIO keyboard in her backseat only to entice the desperate, the poor, the musically inclined??

Those shiny white plastic keys shooting their legs in the air, saying, TAKE ME!!!! But, you'll have to BREAK THE WINDOW, smash smash. Glass like fangs gnarling from their frames.

I thought that damn car was my FORTRESS impenetrable. Japanese engineering; foolproof security. Is any kind of security a sweet delusion??

Probably. South of Folsom ESPEC.

My fabric paint/clipping/stencil collecion, gone from the trunk. I'm really hoping my childhood baby journals aren't gone too--that shit IS PRIVATE!!!!

Is this all a delusion? A delusion that I will EVER GROW UP and move somewhere and set up shop and think I'll be able to do something, put it into action, be for real, finish what I start, not leave immediately and go back to the garish garage where I can leave my car OUT FRONT WITH THE WINDOWS DOWN, IPOD ON THE DASH, and thank god clurmont, you'll never take take take from me?

A spider doesn't cry when you trash its web to goo. And I'm not shedding TEARS either!!!! I've got fuckin SPIDER EYES that cry garbonzo goo. Shit's sticky.

FINAL RESPONSES, DUDE

Dear Frank,

Thank you for your response. I will have your materials back to you stat.

You're watching me from the other side of the freeway. A huge oil
tanker comes by. And we collide. Its impact on the guard rail causes
it to flip over and oil punctures metal, salving the pavement with
greasy cactus water. You're jumping up and down trying to fully see
the wreckage, trying to see some blood. All you see is incandescent
gasoline dripping onto the underpass.

Good luck,
Britt



Brittany:
you're amazing and exceptional in many ways.

you are also ordinary in some ways, one of which is your adolescent
need to flirt (all the guys here
remarked on it) and then complain that the guys you flirt with are
harassing you when they respond.
have some character and own your own shit. juvenile. guys are onto it.
you don't fool anyone except
yourself when you won't own your part in it.

if you had a shred of writing talent, or more pointedly if you had
anything to say about the world
outside yourself, you wouldn't be afraid to share it with me. you are
facile but you have no soul, which
is the steady state for anyone who approaches the world
narcissistically, with a sense of entitlement.
it's all so elitist and middle-class. you really blew it.

thanks for promising to return my stuff 'stat', whatever that means.

Sorry, but, I don't want to join your neo-goth band!

hi there frank, I first want to say thank you for showing me your work
and opening up your ideology to me. It was a very unusual audition,
one that endowed me with a lot of excitement for the creation of art.
I appreciate this immensely. However, after leaving the meeting,
I realized that speaking another person's words is not at all
appropriate for me right now. Auditioning as a vocalist for you was my
first real pursuit of its kind, and after truly considering this
orientation, I realized that your songs cannot say precisely what I
need and want to say--but rather perfectly expose your uncompromising
beliefs. These speak very clearly to you, but in fact conflict deeply
with many of my beliefs, especially about capitalism, love, women,
burning man, brian eno, the future, shakespeare, electronic music, and
aesthetics--things that I do not believe will create the ideal
collaboration you're envisioning, based on clashed fundamental
principles.  Meeting you has therefore imbued an indelible attachment
to my own burgeoning work--this birth intrinsically occupying full
prioritization in my mind. This also clashes with your unconditional
requirements, an ultimatum to devote myself to your work--something
obtuse to require of a perfect stranger. And while I am flattered that
you appear to find me personally appealing, I left feeling as though
any potential for professionalism would be tainted by sexual overtures
that I do not reciprocate. It felt unprofessional to me Frank, and I regret
if my suggestive performance style translated as a suggestive
invitation. It was not intended. I wish you luck with your future work
and in refining your art, which has a very important place in San
Francisco and for modern class consciousness. Thank you for taking the
time to interview me, and for your generous offer.

Sincerely,

Brittany Berg

I'm DELUSIONAL

Brittany-

Thanks for your time and for considering my band. I do appreciate the
effort you made to audition. In fact I like you so much that I feel
compelled to give you honest feedback for your childish and rude email
to me, which will embarrass you for the rest of your life, if you have
any soul.

1. You are accusing me of sexual overtures that I will make in the
future? You're delusional.

2. If you tell me (or any man, as opposed to boy) you're not
interested, I will hear you. If you don't, which you didn't, I had a
perfect right to flirt, which I did do, at the end of my incredibly
generous afternoon with you, for about 15 seconds. Deal with it. You
are the kind of whiner that makes it hard for women who are actual
victims to be believed. Grow up. Flirting is a human right. If you
don't like the human condition, become a cactus.

3. "speaking another person's words is not at all appropriate for me
right now" Please send me a copy of the lyrics to your two audition
songs asap. Seriously. I shared my art with you a thousand times over
today. Now reciprocate, as a genuine artist would. I have several
friends who want to read the 'words that are appropriate for you right
now'.

4. Didn't I loan you several CDs of mine? Please return them as i am a
poor artist, and I don't intend to give them away to someone who feels
obliged to attack me personally despite the fact that I GAVE YOU a
huge dose of the greatest art you will ever experience, and a full
afternoon of my precious time, and an offer to join a great band.
CDs back please, pronto. Thanks.

Frankie

Swim, gulp, swim, drown, swim, gulp gulp, yum yum yum, air air air!!!

Finally swimming to the moon....

Shed it all in the garage.
Confessed to my neighbor that everynight I'm in that cement stable stripped to the bone, humping the planets in Warrior 2, balancing on my toes and licking the plastic off the floor. She smiled from the audience. Maybe now I'll get invited to a 4th of july party or a neighborly bris.

Swimming with the Claremont kids was very titilating. It's nice to feel ones college education at work while grinding for some 17 year olds on a coffee table. I was a PERFORMANCE STUDIES MAJOR, you see.

Small completions make me feel like an adult with a kazoo in my shorts. It's thrilling to speak to people. My mouth hurts from saying I LOVE YOU.

OW OW OW!!!!!!!!

ion baby

"I am perfect!"
Yes, oh yes yes yes yes yes you are! How did you get to be this sweet, this lovable, this strange, this special, this exciting, this authentic, this adorable, this little snugglepop that could be my very own? Good GOD, you're only 5 days old!!
"I know. It's miraculous that you found me. I've been sleeping in the streets. It's so lucky you bent over and smelled the ground. Stuck out your tongue. Tasted."
I saw flecks of gold and silver on pavement and thought, wow, that shit must contain the un-named flavour, the silent sense. I will always taste the streets now!!!!!! The taste of glitter is beyond UMAMI, it's sacred tsunami, it's your own fucking mommy! Mommmyyy!!!!!! Someday you will call me Mommy and I will respond deservedly.
"Mommy!"
I can't hear you.
"Mommy!!! We've been stellarbound; joint cosmology! I don't exist without you, nor you without ME!"
Eh.
"I feel like I've been dead for so long, finally alive. Don't fuckin turn around. You have to tend me. Raise me. Braise me. With more of the love you've been wasting on useless shit like chocolate and insecure men. I'm all you really need !"

I want to snuff, I want to snuff. It's not enough. It's so much harder the second time than the first. Seeing the ionic makes me feel blind.

4:49 January 1st 2010

I walked through my elementary school high today, wearing an orange towel, wrapping the arm of my 3rd-13th grade admirer with the suede side of my leather jacket...admiring the school's bordering hills that were once so treacherous and once so coveted for freedom. I swore that that fence wasn't there before, and in our day, the children did not escape due to highly effective conditioning. He disagreed, and said that no, the fence had always been there. I always try to inflame marvel at the natural ease of brainwashing the young; there was a time when we too were all succeptible. Control of the mind is the finest symptom of maturity.

We walked across the handball courts. I said, that is the handball court. You can tell by the birds eye view of that four layer birthday cake on the cement bricks. He said, do you mean, the bullseyes on the front? I don't think anyone ever actually used them to play. I agreed fully. He finished, they always reminded me of breasts. Oh Vincent, not everything is about women!

We left my elementary school from the other side, enough for me to peak into the 4th-6th grade quad, and see the metallic forcefields hinging my memories together...that time when I was afraid of the kid with extreme adhd who psychologically abused me and made me feel like a freak. It wasn't until 7th grade that I started brushing my teeth.

I let it alone. The past is indeed untouchable. But the girl symbol on the girl's restroom has a very big skirt and only one leg.

I popped a squat in the island tuft of grass dividing the lanes of the faculty parking lot. I lift up my orange towel from the bottom, proud of my ommission of dubloons, and pissed copiously, while a dodge mini van drove by. I did not attempt to hasten the operation.

The last day of my year reminded me that we should all aim for the stars. One shot, one kill.