11:16 am | 13 January 2004 | like foodstamp churchmice

So there are apparently upshots to everything (i keep thinking about the part in one of the Little House on the Prairie books where they're all "No great loss without some small gain" but, typically, it's something like "Well now that the farm burned, no more pesky dusting!" and i am following this tradition closely). I am teething on the silver lining and it is poisoning me.

Here are the upshots:

- am now so horrifically poor that have lost all this weight so as to better fit in among the indie-rock elite/everyone in L.A., so at least i look less suspisch while i am checking payphones for loose change;
- having lived off one bag of tortilla chips for the past two weeks, with the intermittent supplemental 89-cent burrito (when feeling especially flush) and food scrimmaged from Casa Kadosh (friends' parents' sprawling manse), am now finally ready to start that novel about being in, like, a gulag or something;
- no longer have to wander around record/shoe stores fretting about what to buy, since cannot buy jack shit, so that's off my mind. Aaaaand scene.

Seriously you guys. I am doing that "search through possessions for pawnable stuff" thing that is so en vogue with crackheads (I am experiencing, in effect, all the gritty realism of being an actual crackhead without the bother of addiction, those pesky highs, or those already-familiar-to-me lows). Remember (possibly) this entry? What's that thing about speaking too soon? Where's some wood, so that i can build an Ikea-like perpetual knock device? Oh, the wood, that is my head. And the knocking? The headache borne of having (as previously stated) twelve to seventeen tortilla chips a day, but still two fifths of Jameson, parting gifts similarly rationed. I am fully, fully cracked out. I am cracked out like an empty walnut shell. I am cracked out like an egg on your garage on November first. And finally, lovers, friends, I am cracked the hell out like my crazymaking, earthquake-scarred ceiling, here in the LBC. Well, i'm off to sell eggs! My own! Laters! clm.

p.s. I am now selling chapbooks on the archive page. If you've been looking for some crappily printed poetic moaning, there ya go.