that’s what they call me at the bar, that bar I went too when I was really drunk in a town I had never been to before. They asked me my name and I said, call me Story Brooke, I was just a figment of their fucked up imagination. One guy laughed next to me bought me a drink he thought I would like, gave me some pills, knocked me out so he could fuck me in the bathroom out of the pretense he was helping me out. Left alone, hey at least I still have my cigarettes, motherfuckers cost twelve a pack here in Japanese yogurt world, buy my ass get a dollar free land. I called my friend Liz who picked me up and ate me out. She had me for dinner because that bulimic bitch skips out on the morning meals. I suppose I tasted like orange chicken and regret. I bet I tasted better than that skinny drug dealing bitch Liz had a thing with last weekend, the only good thing that cunt has was a tight pussy. I have brains, I mean crazy brains but at least I have crazy good brains and a tight pussy. That skank was dumb as an J dollar bill. They make J dollar bills in the H ward, it was a fucked time for me. Questions I just can’t handle but other things I can, like cottage cheese and strawberries. Or pickles and Meryl Streep.
I live with this homeless guy in a fancy apartment owned by this gay guy with cancer. The gay guy loves Black Sabbath and wants to die to Crazy Train, he said it would make the most sense, the homeless guy sleep in the bathtub, he said it made the most sense.
the homeless guy took me to a house party where everybody dressed up like John Lennon dolls with macabre makeup, we danced to a terrible beats and I puked by this statue of a Tina Turner. I made out with this guy named Luke who had black hair, he was a meth dealer he had a cool van, he fucked me in the front seat with my face pressed up against the window. In the morning, Luke gave me sixteen bucks and this scarf his ex girlfriend made for him out of rainbow string before she got hit by a bus.I guess she was hot, she was really hot and marriage material with zero to none baggage. A catch he stated, turning his pipe to the heat of the lighter. I stared at moon through the window, I wanted him to love me like that even though we had just met. His black hair reminded me of dead crows and anything dead just got me hot. He pushed me out of his car onto the street in front of the police station. Drove off spun, spinning lucky bastard. I never had a fun ride, it was always depressing. Usually when I got high, I wanted to kill people or myself but I resorted to masturbating because I was anxious that I would never find happiness and all the glass slippers at Ross were sold out. so i went home knocked myself up with sea salt and fell asleep. I think you know, I think I dreamed of you but it was probably a lie. My dreams are jerks. My favorite dreams are black and white, barking dogs red kettles ballerinas pushing up daises with pubic bones. Woke up took a hit, spun, spinning, took a shower water in my eyes reaching for a towel ribs showing beautiful skinny lifeless hungry bereft. I took an eight hour nap, wrapped up in an Indian blanket I had found in the trash by Taco Bell. I woke up to the news of nothing good, took a piss and stared at myself in the mirror for forty five minutes before I decided to get dressed. I looked like hell, beautiful and dirty. It was my fate to look that way, to be this way. I only owned two pairs of shoes, both I had purchased from the local meth dealer for three candy bars he would never eat. \I walked into the kitchen, the homeless guy was washing his hair in the sink, he wanted to go a strawberry blue, a color God told him was the new up and coming.
” i have been addicted to meth for six years before that it was heroin. The needle is my friend, don’t laugh, it’s true, before that it was gorging myself on cock and that didn’t work. I guess it’s my dad’s fault, he hurt me in so many ways. He killed himself before the cops came to the house, my mom threw me out. I cost her life, her true love. She blamed me. I have been out on the streets now, well actually I am not on the streets anymore, this guy Hector told me I could come live with him and this homeless guy who lives in the bathtub. I am not one to judge, I once jacked off a cop for a pack of cigarettes.”
“I talk to god, he lives in the sink with me, i once caught him peeking up my skirt. I wear skirts, I make them out of toilet paper. I look beautiful, do you have a cigarette?”
I went to the grocery store today to pick up baby food for the cat. As I handed the cashier the twenty she saw saw my thick long jagged scars on my left wrist. She shook her head she gave me my change. I grabbed the bag and took the beer from under my sweater I stole, popped it open and walked into the street. I wasn’t always like this, even before my dad killed himself, I had a semi normal childhood even with the incest. It didn’t start until I was eleven, before that everything was fine. My mom was an artist, my dad was a history teacher. He had all these maps from all over the world, depicting angels on globes fairies holding street signs, I used to love to steal them before bed and fall asleep with them under my pillow. The first night my dad came in, I clutched the World Tree Map in my hand on my belly, in the morning I burned it in the bath tub before school. My mom loved to paint horses, I used dream of owning my own horse my own farm out in the middle of the desert. I never got to ride one, the closest I ever got to riding a horse was the second time I smoked meth. There was a little pony, a child’s toy one of those rocking horses in this chicks living room. I was so high, so fucked up, when everyone went out to go peer out the window. I just sat on that horse and rode it until the sun came up.
“I made a skirt today out of twigs and lint. I glued the lint to the string and threaded some beads I found on the ground. It looks I mean it looks great, I love this thing, I do. It is so pretty like fuck I really need a cigarette.”
“I am going to leave this place, I need to get away from Hector and his crazy cop friend, the homeless guy is pretty cool, I think I might take him with me. He is harmless, we have cash. I am not worried about that, I am just you know I really don’t know where to go. Everywhere is fucked up, this whole world is one giant toilet. I mean it’s pretty and all in some parts but most of it fucking sucks. I want to go to a city, a huge place where nobody knows anybody. They all fuck each other of course but nobody really knows anybody. I want to get a place by the subway or the train, where my windows shake, the floor moves, the lights sway. I don’t want to be alone in my head anymore. The homeless guy can live in the bath tub, I prefer long storms to wash, my hair soaked to my face, no underwear, it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t trust water out of a faucet to make me clean, I rarely ever consider it.
I bought two plane tickets to Los Angeles. One for the homeless guy the other for me. We left without telling Hector we loved the guy but the cancer was hard enough with all that goodbye bullshit. I packed my bags, smoked the rest of my crystal, popped the oxy’s, I puked, nerves dope sick. I didn’t have much, i wanted to take the cat. That cat was the best bitch. She was my bitch. We took the bus to the airport since the homeless guy accidentally set my jeep on fire two days ago. We must have looked like freaks, because we were. The homeless guy in his spandex and toilet paper skirt and me in my usual black. I keep my hair black since it reflects the trauma of my heart. The jagged scars on my wrists, the piercings on my face. The tattoos on my neck, I just want to get high. That morning on our way to the airport, we passed a car accident. Some guy impaled on a spear. Poor bastard
we got to the airport found some dead chick in the parking lot, she was blue, she was pretty she was pretty dead. The homeless guy stopped and stared at her, grabbed his face and sneezed.