the valium she dropped and the crank flashlight

  yeah, that’s right. a crank flashlight.
  if you happen to live in a meth mega-center, a crank flashlight might sound like a flashlight that a tweaker must carry to look for things in the night.
  things that go bump in the night. like a face. looking through binoculars and what do i see? other binoculars looking back at me.
  i quit speed over ? years ago. its my little secret.
    but valiums………….now that’s another story.
   my wife has a prescription for valiums, and she likes them… a lot.
  most people like valiums. the only people i’ve ever met who don’t like valiums are natural born assholes who are addicted to their own assholishness.
  she does not give me valiums often. she almost never gives me blue valiums. one night, when she was stoned on weed, she dropped a blue valium.
  i don’t know about your house, but when you drop a pill in this house, the weirdest shit happens.
 1. it rolls under the microwave, where dusty tumbleweeds obliterate the eyesight.
  2. it rolls over to where the cats eat tuna fish cat food that has slopped out of the little cat dish and rotted for the past five years.
  3. it bounces and the rolls into the bathroom where it comes to rest in a sticky splotch of urine on the linoleum next to the commode.
  4. it lands under the coffee table where we eat. it gets lost behind grains of rice and pieces of broccoli and sandals and besides its indoor/outdoor carpeting that’s been glued to the historical wooden floors that i’ve halfway sanded back to originality, so there are great holes in the carpet for the one blue valium to rest in.
    5. i get out my crank/valium flashlight with the high beam on and crawl like a crackhead picking at bits of popcorn in the carpet.
      viola!! i have one blue valium.
   i let it rest on my tongue, savoring the moment. it tastes bad and i swallow as my eyes close.
    6. it wont go down. it burns my throat like a jagged pill from hell. i puke a little bit, and drop to my knees instantly, my hand grasping instinctively for the crank/valium flashlight savior.
  7. the little blue pill floats atop the moat of vomit.
  8. there is no hesitation.
             9. tired now

its a rainy day

 but it hasnt rained. we picked avocados after a breakfast at arts after turning in the jeep for a tune-up. the many old cars that we try to keep running vs the cost of a new car ..i dont think its even a question of which is more economical,
   but even my non consumer wife is talking of buyiing a new car and i still cant see what i’km typing. fuck the typo’s fuck wordpress..this is as aggravating as working for a living. working to provide transpotation to work working to provide sustenance to work. working for the opportunity to pay taxes to keep the ecomomy moving .
  typing and not being able to see what i’m typing. aaarrrggg.

what’s with wordpress?

 so, i havent blogged in a while and i’m trying to write and now there is a box over the space i’m writing in. at the top of the bow it says “publish”, and my words disappear beneath the goddamn thing while i’m writing and i’m having a bad day anyway (a bad day in america..no bombs or ak47s akakakaking its just a bad day because i took my car into firestone because it has an oil leak. they want to replace the timing belt and the water pump because they cant find the source of the leak and i say..no..i’ll take it somewhere where they can fix an OIL LEAK and i go to pick it up and they say “oh, its still in pieces and you cant have it back and i’m trying to blog about it, but i’m not a typist I’M TRYING TO WRITE WITH MY WORDS DISAPPEARING UNDER THIS FUKKKKKING BOX.

something broken

 i have an orange picture of a tree.
perhaps you’ve seen it.
my parents had it when i was a child,
and i could see my last name spelled out in the weeds beneath the tree.
ahh. tree’s grow from trunks. truncation. branches die. branches survive. branches start anew.
somethings is broken and i’ll ask this:
is the straw that breaks the camel’s back any more imprtant than any of the previous straw’s?