well i got a bunch of really nice messages this morning so i'm feeling kind of mushy. and i slept for 12 hours and i'm still having trouble writing and i'm starving but did good yesterday and
well, shit. i met a man okay? but he's young and i always have this moral dilema. but leo's not living here now. i could just have a nice, fun relationship.
oh no i can't. because then he'll fall in love and then i'll hurt him and i can't live with myself if i hurt someone.
.. okay hold on little jo. man. but it does always happen that way. and i never get to fall in love except with musicians who are open and honest and beautiful but only on stage, well i don't know if adam's like that. losi wasn't. bob was to the max. oh my stomache hurts and i have so much shit to do. first, i have to go cover city hall, then to work to answer phones and such and then to the protest and i don't mind the busses and running around but it is so fucking cold my eyeballs freeze in my head. but i did get a pair of excellent sunglasses for two bucks that are great.
anyway, my friend mark came over to make a delivery of some really fine, fine weed, anyway, and he had this tall spent looking man with him. only i bet he's only 25 (i'm lying he ain't a day over 22), but he's a 'fan' of mine and he already loves me. crazy. i love that. so he was real cute and *almost* shy and i acted really whormal. i mean normal. i really was, for me. i mean i talked endlessly, but not endlessly.
i talked about what a loser i feel like which is always effective. but i didn't bomb on friday night. you guys don't understand. oh you should. you've seen some of my hilarious posts about marrying jeff ament and how i had 11 of adam's children and sex and fat and madge. well i am funny. it's not like these people weren't laughing. i just expected a, well, a HUGE crowd. we all did.
but what bums me out is that is has to be so contribed. i'm not against rehearsing because i'm lazy, but because it feels false. you know, making jokes around a bar with my friends, well the fun comes from the moment. up there, well, it's performing, you know?
see, i never write the same thing twice. well i do repeat lines sometimes. but i can and must do it. i have to work up a routine.
you guys don't understand. i am a natural born actress. my parents had me studying, professionally, when i was 8. i can do it. i just wish it would feel differently. and maybe it will. but i have to have a routine. i even hate the word. dennotes boredom. but i think, no matter if i have the whole thing planned, i'll think of funny shit.
see, i have to do it. but part of what is depressing me and yet rejuvinating me, is the whole welfare thing. Next friday i'm making a speech down at the convention center for a huge crowd. welfare welfare welfare. so now, that has to be my focus but i sure wish i could find someone to kiss for a little while. shit. i have to leve in an hour and my hair looks like hell. and there's this one councilman who keeps staring at me and is so cute and is not married. i should, yes, i will dress like a sex kitten to go there today. he keeps looking and looking at me. and i try to look at him wiht that 'first year law student' wonderment. then he'll find out i'm a journalist and hate me.
well good, the dirty bastard.
i'm having a mental block. i can't write another word about welfare. considering it's gone. considering i don't know what the fuck i'm going to do once the utility people can terminate me on april 1st. considering i'm spent and waste the money i get on like aprons and flower seeds.
but i always survive and don't you forget it. i feel like going to the bar and dragging some basta
but i won't. but it is fun to think about. but this man aaron, last night. oh, oh, well, man. cutecutecute
and mark started talking about the counting crows on SNL and he told arron that i loved adam and shit. well, i really do have pictures of him on my bedroom wall, but back in the corner by my calender and all that stuff, where i'm sitting right now. there's a window behind me and i'm just beat.
but i feel better than yesterday. it is just not right that i am chronically single. it is a waste of talent for me not to have a man to kiss. and kiss and kiss 'cause i love to kiss. especially in public. 'cause i am a whore. in waiting.
that's me and madge. she's been weird lately, too. well this weekend was a food masacre but i think she expects too much from me. i think everyone does. because sometimes i seem so strong and so talented and just, well, like this life really loves me in a special way, but man. people yell at me about how i think i'm perfect but it's them who expect me to be. man.
and some people write yelling at me telling me not to drink or get high. i never fucking drink. on friday i had three drinks. before that, i don't know, we go out, oh yeah, we went to Dee's like two or three weeks ago.
you guys don't understand my life. writing takes a huge amount of energy, trying to remain focused, phrasing sentenses just write, but 8 p.m., i am baked. so i do some stupid exercizes and go to sleep, at like 9. last night i went to bed at 7:30. it's just that i just wanted a normal life. i orignally loved the idea of being a writer because i could be 'famous' (people were reading me) and still live in a cabin in the woods with my husband and my babies. i'd quilt. and sew. and have a greenhouse. oh, i had it all planned and no one would know who i was so i could still go to the store and all over.
but now, now i have to live under this constant scrutiny. am i real? i don't even know what planet i'm on sometimes so that's relative. and christ, i wonder if in a year, i'll think i'm as big an asshole now that i thought i was two years ago?
but i work all this shit out. i always do, darn it. oh shit, i have to get off line. but i'm not done with you all. oh darcy and karen, and all of you, oh and all you silly people who sent me wonderful valentine's messages, thank you. i'm going to be fine. i am always alright by the end. it's just that i'm still poor and i'm about to lose my housing subsidy and i'm scared. that's all. and performing, well, then i feel like i'm pretending to even be myself and i don't want to be a bastardized version of myself and i watch that happen to so many people 'up there' and i'd rather be poor than that confused. even lost forever.
and then what? how many brilliant writers do you never hear about in three years. how about that one lady in vanity fair who thinks she's god and they say her writing gets worse the better she thinks she is. but you *have* to _know_ you're good or you won't take the risk. it really is ridiculous to set out to tell people what you think and feel.
what is it that i want to say here? i don't mind performing my poetry. well, becasue i don't have to perform it. oh gosh, what, do i think i'm too 'pure' to perform. oh i am crazy.
this is probably one of the stupidest messages you all have had to read from me for awhile. and i'll be back later. maybe. i have two speeches to write, a column, a bus column and another welfare column. and it's valentine's day and i just won't eat a single morsle of food all day. i'd like to go drink but i'm too miserable. i'm not miserable. i'm just scared. yeah, i'm miserable.
i just need a man. (i never get one so i just tell myself this so i feel like there's a cure but then the weirdness passes and i don't need a man anymore)
fuck this too. i mean, i NEED a man but i don't get all ugly about it like alot of cheatin' lyin' bastards (and that goes for some of you dames, too). but, well, i just can't. grr... but well,
okay, here's something, today, if you think you're in a bland relationship, well you think about whose fault that just might be. and then think of me and my crazy miss kitty hair and scattered brain and the sexless grandure of kathy jo.
kiss her once for me. have a holly jolly christmas
oh i just can't stop. and my stomach still hurst so bad. madge has the day off. i wonder if she'll be coming with me. i need some broth. my poor tummy. i felt like the slug of life yesterday. my tummy and head were killing me. and last night, janet jackson was in my dream.
for my next, um, performance, i want to show home movies in my basement. i could fit thirty people down there and we could drink and smoke. and i can, 'practice' on them. see, it sucks. something about it.
but i'll do it, alright. and i will be excellent. and i am also going to go get strings for my mom's guitar. that's right. because i want to write music so bad it hurts. i just want to do everything.
but right now, i have to go dress like a, well, i'll wear something good. but it has to be warm because i have to go protest welfare in the ice cold bitter wind. i'm going to need some pearl jam today.
oh, i'm wigging hard. it'll be funny to see what my brain's like when i get back. but i can't keep writing like this on the net. i think soon i'll be making pretty good money at my magazine. even now, with all the extra stuff i do plus my base weekly pay, well, it's okay. i'll be okay.
i just need it to start getting warm and in two weeks, it'll be march, month of my birth. i was born on holy thursday and sometimes my birthday's right on easter. crazy, huh? but i was born on the day we celebrate the gift of the holy spirit. holy holy holy, lord god on high.
okay, something happy something happy. oh yeah, it will be warm (45) tomorrow and the snow will melt and tulips will bloom, oh and my gladiola's and i did look good friday night. i did lose twently wretched pounds, yeah, so i didn't even feel right making fat jokes. so i didn't.
oh i'm just going to go. i sure hope no one complains about this message becasue i won't be help responsible for my actions.
but there's something i need to say that i haven't said and i can feel it and until i find it, i can't write my normal way. grr...
okay children in bloom,
see you all later, man.
kathy drill-a-hole-in-my-head,-please jo
gosh, all i need to say, what boils inside me is all that i feel for this crazy adam duritz. i swear when i think how crazy it all is, how ruthlessly impossible, i cry. and i can feel a desperation well inside me that will send me rushing into someone's arms. and see, i never metioned a word about the man from california because i already know. well i need to be with someone i can be with.
but i always end up with men who i can't be with for some reason or another. except st john the poophead and i couldn't be with him because he wanted to fucking live with me. and i just got bored with him. no i didn't i just knew, i just knew it was wrong. i want soo much more that what he and i could have had.
so okay i'm really out of my mind. it's just this lust builds up in me. crazy. i'm wearing all black today. it's just that i want to coil around someone so bad, kiss them so well and so often that they get dizzy. entranced.
shit, there it is. all this to cover over the fact that what i want is sex??
OH, BUT I FUCKING HATE TO ADMIT IT!! i swear to god. it enrages me. oh i am so pissed. so pissed it makes me feel like just going and, no, i just can't do it because that's not right. i know i get scared of being hurt but i am not afraid of the actual act, it's all the consequence. i swear it is meant to be sacred. i don't think you should be with anyone who you wouldn't want to have your child. well okay that's a little extreme but what if you end up pregnant?
anyway, i just think it's sacred. i read the coolest edgar cayce stuff about it. how it is the most creative act (think about it, the very source of life, conception and all that) and that this energy is released and if you waste it, you burn your soul out. but if you love your partner, and they love you, then it is the most fullfilling act. and if you're excellent, it can be the most fun too, if you're a dirty whore with whoever you love like you should be.
'lay your modesty aside with your skirt' cicero
cicero. who can stand that i read him? or montaign or buber or any of those crazy men?
okay, so fuck cupid. ah ha ha. only being miserable because the day seems ripe for it. but i'll have fun. any minute i'm going to put on 'ten' and start fixing my hair, slide on a pair of warm cotton tights and get ready to exit stage right.
heavens to jo, have a good day you all. i mean it. will the rest of you at least have sex? it'll make me feel better. madge too. but don't feel the need to tell us about it.
okay, spank her once for me
oh i am too queer but i don't care i'm not cutting any of this
when everyone pities me
well son,
that's just about as funky as you can be