From: "TRUEBOY *" [Save Address] [Block Sender]
To: rawkrawk@hotmail.com
Subject: some jingle jangle morning when i'm straight
Date: Fri, 28 Feb 2003 00:50:02 +0800

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can i get a witness? ok, then how's about a klonopin? you wrote a
while back about starting a pill blog. i'd be all over that shit a
zagats for pharmheads...sorely needed in this flatlined, black and
white world with the constant cloud cover behind which the spy jets
criss-cross, silver, silver jets' flames...anyway, currently i'm
spying on the dutch lower middle class, sleeping on a little orange
bed in a little white apartment that is one of many in a socialist
building that is itself one of many in rotterdam, which is a city
that is mostly an industrial wasteland. wait, my nose keeps running.
there. ahhh, i feel like i'm back in the town in jersey where i grew
up....only everything's much more convienient...take the concrete
stairs down to the dreary glassed-in lobby with its fake plastic
trees and turn an immediate left to the inhouse bar, then step
outside into the yellow air and cross the courtyard...voila, the
neighborhood coffeehouse. they know me, i buy one bag at a time like
a miser.


there's a mini pizza slut by the esso station. i'm on a steady diet
of ground beef and bacon slices. pan crust. it burns my stomach and
makes my breath smell like death. i swear i'm turning me into a
vegetarian ...meat is disgusting me, slowly but surely...so i go for
the nastiest meat possible. it's like licking a dirty ashtray to
quit smoking. if i keep going like this it's only a matter of days
before i'm fucking gandhi, shit.

(trouble every day)

i'm with the masses out here, drinking shitty ass beer, wearing last
year's gear...i've decided it's time to leave the netherlands, to go
where i don't know, somewhere healthy where i can get some shooting
(filming) done. but my buckets are dry, there's no euros in my
wallet, just a strip of tram tix and someone's credit card and your
phone number that i can't call but will call. i'd be raped and run
out of town if i tried to get into dealing blow in this city, so
nothings going on, financially.

electronically, however, everything is bright and clean and well-lit.
i'm writing a lit agent. he's going to put us on, raymi i know he
will,i feel it in my bonez. i used to hang out at his office, eating
soup and stocking the library under the warhol.

it's going to happen. did i tell you i'm psychic? but only when i'm

fuck, come here and do a fat rail with me. i made a set of train
tracks going across the table...a train going nowhere, fast.


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