queen of day time is duped and millions of readers fall into a million little pieces

james frey all i can say is your FUCKED!
tonight i will dream of snow and santa fe
and only 20 days until pitchers and catchers



on the farm with a portrait of her, and as was her fashion, was quiet


it was really home
in a sense
as much as a new home can feel
to a broken man such as he

his pajamas laid over the arm of the chair
there was a half-drank bottle of rancho zabaco wine by the bedside light
that both sat on the nightstand next to the bed
he laid in bed reading "if the river was whiskey" by t.c. boyle
and peering over the corners, occasionally

the portrait was in a brown wooden frame
that his father had made one cool, fall evening
it was placed in a chair where he could see it from bed
he was a week behind so there was a pile of the daily newspaper
comic section next to him in bed
"i can't ever seem to keep up anymore," he said, rubbing his eyes
and talking to no one

he reopened the bottle of rancho zabaco
then re-corked, glancing at the picture portrait again
"here's to you," he said, "and to hell with you, as well."
she looked at him with the same smile that made him melt
so many years ago, that makes him sobbingly broken now
he downed the glass, and poured another
the picture was the same
suddenly feeling warmth from the wine
realizing he had taken this bad hand and turned it into a good one

deciding to try and catch up on reading beetle bailey and andy capp
he opened the newspaper
it was fun, too
losing himself in the daily comic section
he forgot about the portrait on the chair
after catching up through wednesday, he put on his pajamas
buttoned the pocket on the shirt
and put the picture and her leaving to rest for good

i imagine i learn things to early sometimes
and somethings too late others, he thought
with that he picked up the flat, hard, old, cold portrait
poured another glass of rancho zabaco and replaced the picture
and started to read thursdays comics

he was reading calvin and hobbes
whom he liked very much
when he heard the front door of the cabin open
he grinned

calvin and hobbes were amusing
and he knew it was his new love coming in from feeding the horses



delivering my mail


at 8:37 this morning he took a pill to start the day
there was a bottle from the night before
among some scattered papers on the floor with some of his stories on them
there was a stack of old newspapers on the floor also
next to his mattress, which lays on the floor as well

he fuzzily got out of bed and walked the ten steps to his liquor cabinet
although, it's not really a cabinet
it's more of a table with bottles of alcohol sitting on it
he neatly poured himself three more shots of bourbon
into his darth vader coffee mug

one would think the way he lives is compulsive sometimes
he made a pot of coffee
and topped darth vader off with some
he turned on the stove
scrambled some eggs
drank his three fingers of whiskey coffee
and had an egg sandwich over the sink

after eating, he did some reading
he like to read
it calmed his soul
let's him leap into another life
it's much easier to live someone elses's, than mine, he thought

he reads for awhile
thinks' he's where he needs to be
to do some writing
he is now anyway

back to the liquor table and poured him another whiskey and coffee
he's been on the typewriter now for several hours
mentally exhausted
another pill might just do the trick

after a few minutes he wanders down the hall and downstairs to the bar
might do him some good
he needs a rest and some new material
on the way out he runs into the postman

double takes over his shoulder
and looks back at the postman
and thinks charles bukowski is delivering his mail