Saturday, December 13, 2008


As the don’t-mess-with-me diva
at the forefront of the BellRays’
unbridled soul/punk whirlwind,
various parts of me hurt
from the hills and the lugging
of the clubs and their subsequent
poor usage. I am beginning to
think that fate has cheated me,
Doctor. You hurt me too
sorely when you ask me for
bread, calling me your daddy
218 times. I get free cookies
at Dr. Dean Davis' office now—
“I don't mind the rain,” said he, “it
can't hurt me. Oh, Father Almighty,
I rejoice, I bless thee, that thou
hast seen fit to bring my labours to
a dreamy wonderland of natural
beauty and scientific facts." Don’t
hurt me. Journal moods are
FINALLY working again!
It was a thing of rare beauty.
If a white man calls me a "ho",
tell you the truth, what has helped
me so far is writing out a history
of ALL of my past relationships—
they're zapping me, but it doesn't
hurt yet. Had I the same command
of life as thou hast of beard,
it should not escape me
till doomsday. I felt that it
would do me good if I hurt just
awhile longer. And I recommend
the purchase of a mage's hat
whilst thou doth practice. For this
enclosed space offered
tranquility, natural beauty, secrecy...

I hate it! My feet hurt me!
My ankles hurt me! Leave me alone!