No.

A day of No. No hot water. No sandwiches or sale price bacon at the C-Town. No inspiration or interest in continuing the “too busy to die” story. A day of no happiness save for some gruntwork that led to a somewhat satisfying result with the old mailboxes site. I did not call the landlord to report the lack of hoat water because I hate how he fucking yells at me almost any time we have reason to interact. I hate being yelled at but it’s the kind of thing I take quietly.

A reporter from CBS Sunday Morning contacted me, asking to call him. I suspect he was researching something payphone related and found what he was looking for without my help, so I will not likely appear on that show nor will I even be mentioned. I think they are doing a bit on the phone booths at the old Telegraph Building. Christ, am I old enough already to even be considered for that chrome dome show?

I didn’t shower until 4pm. I was up nice and early but could not turn the extra hours into anything productive. I thought about that aesthetic which says you should only surround yourself with objects that bring you joy. On that basis I got rid of a couple of anthologies and stacks of magazines to which I submitted poems and got rejected. That was a long time ago. But any time I saw those volumes I remembered it. One of the magazines had a special section where they highlighted the particularly laughable lines from the poems they rejected. Some of my lines were included in that section on at least one occasion. Sometimes it behooves me to remember that I am not really very good at anything.

…

I wanted to go visit my pet dead cat today, to see if it is still there. God, the photos of that poor thing are disgusting. I posted them anyway. Probably the most disgusting shit I’ve ever put on my sites, except for the early days when I used to show my butt on the webcam.

the ghetto coffee shop feels strangely uncomfortable today, like it is filling up with sand.