i made a bubble bath for myself using a quarter bottle of this cheapo juniper scented green shower gel. in clean, pharmaceutical font it promised invigorating thoughts and tried to tempt me with tranquility, better pheromone flow or some horse shit like that. i lit a smoke to cut the smell. It bubbled better than I thought and pretty soon the bubbles were piled high above the tub. For a while I let the water keep running and watched the foamy white mass grow larger and larger, until shadows appeared between the towering bubble mountain peaks. It swelled like something alive, yet unthinking.



I shut off the water and got in. I’d been standing there, stupid and stoned, so long that the water in the back had gotten cold. As I sat with the hot water pouring down beside my lap, I had an intense flashback to baths I took when I was a little kid. I remembered being happily dazzled by the way the bubbles twinkled like disco bits in the bright light, and yet, at the same time, I’d be vaguely troubled by the feeling of the cold water creeping up on me.

it was like the coldness out there was getting closer and closer to invading my happy little womb,

(out there was the dark and unfriendly world, where anything could happen)

i noticed a pubic hair stuck in the bubbles.

it was like a little black sword, swaying there in warning or salutation or both

(like the strange character you meet along the highway strip, as you make yr journey to the place yr fate has prescribed)

the bubbles were suffocating, swelling—sizzling and evaporating in the air.

(they were mimicking every single second which is gone as soon as it happens)

and yet out there the cold water was beating the warm

it was down by my feet and making its way up


(blood turns purple beneath the blue streetlights what color is it now?)

how strange

i thought

the cold has somewhere to go and i have nowhere




i’ve got nowhere to go.





(i had myself a smoke

and i slipped into a dream)


him: there’s a sense of longing…of loneliness

Theartistformerlyknownas: yes

Theartistformerlyknownas: it’s like, the better it feels, the more alone I get

him: you pull back

Theartistformerlyknownas: Yes, it’s like I’m there by myself. You could probably plot it on a graph: the greater my pleasure, the less I’m present.

Theartistformerlyknownas: The funny thing is i’m not there but i’m also not holding back…there’s an inverse relationship—the better it feels, the more freaky it gets—and it gets pretty freaky—the less i’m really there.

him: i see

Theartistformerlyknownas: what do you think of that? pretty banal given my history, huh?

Theartistformerlyknownas: …except it’s NOT wounded dove syndrome…it’s not like, oh, poor little me…

Theartistformerlyknownas: cuz i’m not like, all closed up and refusing to be touched, mmmk

him: yes

him: ok.

Theartistformerlyknownas: yeah, i mean, it’s like…

Theartistformerlyknownas: fuck i don’t know what it’s like…

him: i think there’s some part of you that wants to be protected.

him: i think there’s a part of you that you’ve pushed away

Theartistformerlyknownas: errmm

him: we can work on getting that out, if that’s something that you want

Theartistformerlyknownas: maybe

him: ok.

Theartistformerlyknownas: I don’t know, though

him: what?

Theartistformerlyknownas: I might just be telling stories…

Theartistformerlyknownas: or maybe i’m just high and aggressive

Theartistformerlyknownas: or maybe i’m treating this like one big video game and scoring all the easy points really fast.

him: i’m not competing with you. this isn’t some kind of mental contest.

Theartistformerlyknownas: i didn’t say that it was

him: it’s ok for you to try on other selves in here. that’s something that you can do.

Theartistformerlyknownas: ha. boy is it ever.

Theartistformerlyknownas: you have no freakin idea.







i didnt know


missed forever