LATE NIGHT THINKIN’/THOUGHTS/THINGS
STOP GIVING UP ON THE THINGS YOU’RE PRETTY SURE YOU’RE GOOD AT
must keep painting nails/wearing lipstick/writing drunk.
My boyfriend thinks I drink too much.
“I mean, you drink like every night,
and alcoholism runs in your family,
it’s not the best combination, babe.”
He’s probably right.
scratch that, he is right.
But I mean,
FOR FUCKS SAKE
BUKOWSKI WAS AN ALCOHOLIC.
BUKOWSKI EVEN DRANK WHEN HE
READ POETRY AT READINGS.
“I feel like I’m more teen-agsty now than when I was in highschool”
-kelly (soul mate/BFF)
I just turned off repeat on ‘Juicy’ by Notorious BIG
but now I feel like somethings missing.
My Budweiser 40 is staring me down,
so is my cat, she’s all like,
“don’t you drink it, dammit.”
And I’m all like, *opens and drinks*
“isn’t it past your bedtime?”
I look just like my dad with no make-up on.
I hate that.
I wish I could’ve been one of Biggie Smalls
back up singers.
Maybe I was in a previous life.
If I had a million dollars I would buy so much useless shit.
and I’d invite my bestfriend (kelly) to come buy useless shit with me,
and she’d be all like “only if you promise to save some of your
money.” Because she knows how bad I am with money. and
then I’d be all like, “I’m going to spend it all on useless shit
with or without you coming with me.”
We decided on an endless supply of blank CDS
and a loft in atlanta that was covered in red velvet.
And it had to have a fire place, back porch, and a
fat ass boom box.
We never left the loft, we never had a reason to.
We invited our boyfriends to live with us.
We fell in love, drank, and crafted more useless shit
for five years straight.
We spent the rest of the money on useless shit for our boyfriends.
Flannels and vans and beer and munchies, and polaroid film.
And when the million dollars was gone, I took down the red
velvet in the middle of the night. Over breakfast my bestfriend
asked my why I took it down. I said, we could sell it for next
months rent. She said she put her half of the million I gave her
in Apple stock, and that I needed to put the red velvet back immediately.
I cried and told her that I was going to make money doing something
to help out. I told her that I could be a great bartender.
She said “no, you’re already a great writer, dumb ass.”
Followed by, “I published your journals, well almost, sign here
and here. It’s the same publisher that wants to publish
I cried more, signed, and busted out some mimosas.
She said that she never thought she could ever be
so happy. But that she needed to create her own life,
and move out to some boring apartment in Decatur,
that wasn’t covered in red velvet. She told me she was greatful,
but needed a change of scenery, and then read me some
Bukowski quotes about growing up and change.
I cried and then threw up a bunch of orangey liquid.
After that, I looked at her and said, “You’re going to be
a grown up when you leave. Everyone around me is grown up.
But I just want to stay here forever. I love you so much, Good night.”