january 11. 9:39 pm.

ate pan-fried steak for breakfast. looked in the mirror at how ugly my teeth are. killed 3 roaches. wore dirty socks to work. ex-girlfriend calls with some unclear apology about things. told her, everything was alright, thanks, don't call. looked back in the mirror. saw hair growing on my face. felt it hard to look at days as they really were: sometimes only this.

january 12. 5:07 pm.

woke up. did push-ups in bed. went to Golden Waffle. ate omelette. smoked Merits. peed. paid. left. stole Rolling Stone from Borders on Clark. saw recent picture of Iggy Pop. wanted to throw up.

january 13. 9:58 pm.

woke up with a dead-lizard hangover. drank the Christ out of myself last night. felt like an old foot all day. mom called. "Grandpa's sick. go visit him." "Please?" "Fine." took blue line to Jefferson Park. visit sick Grandpa. he's faking it. he's lonely. mom's dopey. I'm hungover:

89 years of family. fake-sick Grandpa says, "you know John Paul (cousin) is gay?" "I don't blame him." "What?" "Where's your hearing aid?" "What?" "I said I'm gay." "You're gay too?" "No. I'm just kidding." "Oh. Good."

watched basketball on tv.

faking sick Grandpa says, "us guys have to stick together." took whiskey from cabinet and poured a glass. "does your mother know you drink that stuff?" "No. don't tell her." "Don't you think she should know?" "No. does she know you drink it?" "I don't." "It's not evaporating in there, Grandpa." "Yours cousins drink it." "Not John Paul." "Why not John Paul?" "Gays don't like whiskey." "Really?" "Yep. Can't stand it. ask John Paul."

watched more basketball. faking sick Grandpa says "she knows." "Who?" "Your mother."

january 14. 8:35 pm.

woke up, turned on radio, went to the bathroom. Clash song came on. sat on the toilet and played air drums and air guitar. spent night looking for my friends. missed ex-girlfriend a lot. didn't want to have to call her. thought way too much about everything. started crying on Damen. took side streets home. stopped along the way. bought beer, ho-hos, toilet paper.

january 15. 8:14 pm.

well intending college friend loaned me a Nabokov book. read some. read some more. hated it. read it more. hated it more. decided it was something i should read. read it more. got drunk. fired it out the window.

january 16. 6:39 pm.

set record for most boring day ever. weren't even any roaches to kill. I got my cigarette lighter ready and went looking for them. they'd all slept in. buses pass my building. people spoke Spanish in the hallway. immediate life priorities: cash paycheck. buy Tone Loc record.

january 17. 8:16 pm.

bought Tone Loc tape. jacket has great pictures of Tone, has address of Tone's fan club. listened to "Funky Cold Medina"

january 18. 2:50 pm.

woke up. blasted 'Funky Cold Medina.' Jesus people came to my building. told them "talk to me about Jesus through the intercom." they said "sir, we'd rather come up and talk to you." "you can't. I'm up here in a wheelchair. I can't get down the stairs to open the door. I tried rolling down them last week but I had a spill." "Can't you buzz us in?" "No. it's busted." "Maybe someone else in the building could open the door." "No. they all hate me." asked them to read the bible through the intercom. "Read revelations." "Sir, we actually don't have a bible with us, but we have some passages." "Don't have a bible?" "No, but we have readers for sale if you'd like to purchase one?" I paused, let em stand down there for a minute. "I dunno...when's he coming back? 2000? that's when he's coming back, right?" played 'funky cold medina' through the intercom until they left.

january 19. 10:50 pm.

went to hot dog place on North Ave (go there a lot.). little herds of policemen eat there. listened to them talk about busts. best bust of the week: man arrested for throwing tv at his wife. Owners name is Nasif. Arabic guy.

january 20. 10:12 pm.

spent evening at Maggie's. played her old Atari. (Asteroids.) listened to her talk about her life's work, taking photographs, parents calling every day saying, "come home." thought how I'd love to kiss her. wished she was in love with me. wished i was in love with her. used her bathroom. caught penis in fly-zipper. screamed out to Jesus. used his last name and middle initial. (sound of man hit in the wallet)

11:02 pm.

just realized that the little piece of white light that I occasionally see through the cracks in the closed blinds of the bathroom window, that I always thought was the moon, is actually the reflection of the ceiling light in the window pane.
(so you thought you had moonlight in your apartment)

january 21. 5:11 pm.

might as well have been in a coma for all of today. did nothing. saw people sleeping in blown snow under the kennedy expressway. decided time is faster than i thought. no more waiting. no more remembering. that's important. I'm killing myself with all this remembering. what the hell happened to me? I've become a person I don't want to be at all. well, thank god for green olives. I'm sitting here fishing them out of a jar with my fingers and having a nice 5 minutes. If someone totaled up all the minutes I've spent alone, I think they could kill me with that. on the other hand, I might just sit here and throw olives at their face as they rattled off the bad news. I don't know. late winter in the midwest has a way of sitting on you like a pile of grandparents.

january 22. 9:36 pm.

friend asked me how I like the Nabokov book he loaned me. "Lost it," I lied. didn't tell him I'd fired it out the window. didn't tell him it was probably being run over by a bus as we spoke.

january 23. 7:09 pm.

ex-girlfriend called up angry. told her,"we're not going out anymore. you can't get angry at me." "yes I can." "nope. that's against the rules. we're just friends now." "no we're not." considered buying goat head at a greek deli. mailing it to her anonymously.

january 24. 5:10 pm.

radiators were on cocaine last night. apartment was 100 degrees. opened the windows and let the wind in. fell asleep hearing airplanes, tasting toothpaste in my mouth. had a great day today though. spent afternoon at Alan's apartment. listened to him play guitar. had my own private show. he can play 'little wing' and sing it too. he made grilled cheeses and told me about how he gets electrocuted from his crappy old lamp that is too beautiful to throw away.
(sound of man suffering for his furniture)