spent four days in the hospital last month. terribly sick. better now. little work is better than nothing. not writing. getting ready for baby. totaled car. goodbye car. quit all medication. indigestion. porous epidermis, yes. antarctica starts here has a demo/ep damn near done. its called "bella mas...". nada mucho.
im back, for how long i dont know. look for job. big book of bukowski poems keep me going. wish she wasnt pregnant anymore. its hard on her. tru is healthy last doc visit.
note; this could take a while. what with my stomach and rehashing the horrid month that was december.
with out bad news, there would never be any good newsi was fired friday, december 30 (i think) for "lack of productivity". and i had a bad attitude. so they let me go by the reason i knew, me being sick.
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if you could cut the sky, day or night, wide open just to see whats inside, itd be a smilling will holding your son and motioning for you to come along, just so you could see the colors because happiness and being content and serenity, they all live in the colors that eminate the love i have for you.
the room lives dark, hardwood covered in petals birthing a path to a candle lit room. the reindeer section is playing as he slumps over on his side of a bed, scattered with more rose petals. his heart races and at the rightest of right moments, he asks and she says, 'yes'.