trevor post-penis

andy pink, manchester, new hampshire —

at harvard station, this afternoon, after trevor, after grendel's, after the after, later — i almost jumped in front of the T but only restrained myself because — in an inspired bout of self-protection — i realized that the electrocution would singe my j.crew belt — which i also could have used for the gesture, were i not preoccupied with a hangnail of generational infamy.

saw trevor, shorter hair, still tossed salad, dirty brown, and it was lovely to see him — paid for lunch: veggie burger, he had the "santa fe salad" which nicely summarizes the post-penis trevor — but i was strident a bit, disconnected from my performance of depersonalization, and at a loss for his eyes. i am profoundly down, the T is late, and I am in the cafe at park street, around the corner from the hairdresser site at which the psychic reminded me: that was not an invitation from patrick.

the latest of the corporate gentrification in harvard square are these obnoxious capital one bank cafes with a peet's coffee — pete, who should know better – situated within the bank — or the bank situated within the cup. no matter, mister america, take off your felt gown — white trash or new money — take off your welts and bruises in the capital one coffee shop — and then let them drink money! this is the logic of capital at its most obscene but banal: the reduction of use-value (coffee) to exchange-value (money) — the transmutation of coffee into dollar and coin — all that is solid melts into air, as he once said, majestically — in space, in the coffee shop, no less — and so, solid to gas, liquid to paper — america: you have met your present and, let's agree, she is neither welts and bruises nor felt lady's quilting, but: the mal'formed shit that emerges from the bowels of paper beans.

i will next go to the starbucks on harvard, for a bit of this tapa tap, and i suppose, under the influence, the obverse of the captial one conceit — that we enjoy our debt, like a sugared bisquit from global corporate inc — is the nascent starbucks conceit, obversively — not a cafe in a bank but a bank in a cafe: but will a starbucks branded atm (machine) do (past due) the trick? grande half caf double decaf turbo shot frap post-castration whip — with a twist of lat(t)e fee.

in the trenches but not without bricks —

your daily dish of dystopian dis,

andy pink

why post-castration: the man has a boy, and his name is juan.

and then, on my casade home, i was hit by an autombile. two knees out but i broke the vehicle's fall with my busty quads. to think that they still allow automobiles inside the city gates — what with the daily glory grind of the subway! — cars are, as everybody knows, unnecessary and untoward in the city's limits. imagine, illegal cars in the city — what's next? — undocumented workers in the fields? america's future: run over by undocumented cars and outworked by illegal canadians. oh trevor, anytime now — back to vancouver.