wanderlust dust

when i first moved to portland, i spent over a month living at the joyce hotel, p-town’s most notorious flophouse. i believe they may have filmed portions of drugstore cowboy there. in my first few days, i encountered jim. a rotund, balding man in his 50’s. he had one of those eerie smiles that would make you uncertain as to whether he wanted to fuck you or kill you. or perhaps both. jim often invited me over to his room for food, which apparently he had plenty of. once the notes started arriving under my door in the middle of the night, i became suspicious of his intentions:

well, at least it would be really easy to avoid jim, considering i’m in 417. oh me.

uh-oh

i should say something..

think george costanza with downes syndrome, seriously.

but i would like to thank jim for clarifying exactly where he’d like to administer this “rim job” he speaks of.

i’m just marking items into evidence at this point. hopefully, the judge will remember my vigilance at the time of jim’s sentencing. if there’s anything left of me, please scatter half of my cremated remains in big sur, the other half should be dumped into a drainpipe somewhere in downtown manhatten. i love you all.

i am a prisoner.

as if i’ve even jerked off to a porn catalogue since i was like 5 years old.

i often think about jim, and how often his note sliding approach is rewarded.