summer lovin’, kafka dreamin’

i find a 4-pack yogurt in the fridge in my mother’s home. even though the 4-pack looks like a 4-pack, however, it’s actually a pigeon — a pigeon i’m responsible for, but i’d forgotten about that.

i’m feeling upset because it’s a criminal pigeon and i’m scared of it, so i decide to go ask for advice at the FBI front desk. the FBI lady gets histerically angry as soon as she sees me, and she breaks one of the yogurt containers. the pigeon is hurt. drop after drop of white yogurt fall on the floor, but it’s not white yogurt, it’s red blood from the pigeon’s wound.

the FBI lady informs that i am now free to choose: i can either have the wounded pigeon imprisoned until it dies, or i can have it executed on the spot, as long as i stay there to witness the killing. i’m outraged. i state vehemently that my pigeon and i are going to go back to the place we came from, but the FBI lady laughs and laughs. how can’t i remember that my pigeon belongs in jail? i had collected it from prison myself, years before finding it again in the fridge. at the time, i had promised i would bring it back soon. i get even more angry and i cry out loud that this isn’t true, but the FBI lady shows me that there are some notes between one yogurt container and another. something’s written on them in my handwriting. i suddenly remember that the FBI lady is right.

i’m shocked and humiliated, but i still want to save my pigeon. i’m granted 24 hours to take it away with me and decide whether i want to have it killed right away before my very eyes, or imprisoned for the rest of its life, with no medical care for its wound.

i’m torn. i want to set the pigeon free, but i can’t, because it’s wounded. i want it to keep it with me, but i’m afraid the FBI will come and look for me. i decide to make some calls and ask some friends for advice, but no one seems to be able to help me. during one call, however, an unnatural voice i can’t recognize orders that i go out right away and have sex with a woman who’s waiting for me in a yellow bunk bed. i don’t want to do this, and i cry, and i don’t like women so i feel disgusted, but i just have to do it so i go through with it and feel sick afterwards.

i start wandering around feeling like tom cruise in eyes wide shut. after a while i run into my high school art teacher. she says it’s not long before graduation but i’ve not in been in school lately and i’ve not completed any of my assignments, so i start working on them.

later on i go back to my mother’s place because i’m worried sick about my yogurt-pigeon. i find out it has turned into an old man dressed in rags, and i decide that he can stay there on house arrest. my mother could employ him as a medical carer for my grandmother. my mother agrees. happy ending.

Posted in Curriculum vitae, Pun intended, Self-conscious on the couch, Speculative (life)fiction, Xanax, Xanax, Xanax on, Yellow Notebook | Leave a comment

the 30-something friend you should never have slept with introduces you to his mentor, and the power imbalance between the two of you is finally crystal clear

“isn’t he just great?”
“he’s something. how old is he?”
“does he have any children?”
“oh, no, not yet”.

Posted in Sentimental Valium, Speculative (life)fiction, Yellow Notebook | Leave a comment

shaken up

smudged tears, bruised lipstick, blackened ego

Posted in Pun intended, Résumés, Sentimental Valium | Leave a comment

ah, bartleby! ah, incomprehensible urge to do whatever i feel i shouldn’t!

i would prefer not to, but i do it anyway.
i dislike it thoroughly
and repeat it the next day.

Posted in Adored fascists, Sentimental Valium, Xanax, Xanax, Xanax on | Leave a comment


and yet, things are not ending yet
not yet, and yet

Posted in Senza categoria | Leave a comment

valentine’s day picture you’re only allowed to post if you’re still attractive



Image | Posted on by | Leave a comment (un/tormented mentors II)

you shouldn’t be allowed to pick your teenage idols until you’re 45
(if you want a second opinion on this, e-mail alanis morissette at

Posted in Just for the hell of it, Nothing fails like success, Rage against the Zeitgeist, Stuck in the middlebrow | Leave a comment