Because Ladies’ Choice is a bunch of losers, they will not be playing at the Remote Lounge any time soon, like a I promised my friends. However, the owner/events manager at the remote, Matt Somebody or Other, wants me to bring in my portfolio of paintings, so he can start to display them. I believe they’re going to be part of a video display they run on all those hundreds of “Man Who Fell to Earth” TV sets.

I’ve been writing a lot of drafts of poems, nothing too great, although I might post something called “The Guest” up here soon. All my poems seem to be sprouting weird subtexts lately. The Guest keeps trying to be about death, when that’s not what I meant at all.

Looks like I’ll get a job working for a nun. As a social work supervisor. It’s a much more stable place, the director is actually a social worker, and has been there for five years. At my current job, no one has lasted more than 2. My boss-that-I-hate has been there 9 months. I’ve been so bitchy to him lately that he’s gotten less lovey-dovey and more nasty. Eeh. Every time I speak to him, I end my sentences in my mind with, “and you can kiss my ass.” I don’t think I’m the only one that does this.

Sorry I haven’t written lately, I’ve just been so busy and it’s also been dawning on me that it might be a little self-destructive to be the narrator of my life, rather than the protagonist of it.