kirsten johnson


Apples for breakfast, apples that have lost a little crunch but no flavor, a zillion rubbery cells bursting under the pressure of my teeth against the peel, bleeding sweetly all down my throat and sticky across my lips!

Murder a living thing for breakfast! I like to eat things that were very recently alive, they taste better that way. This apple has known for a long time that it was sick and it is preparing itself for a peaceful frost-limned entombment ah alas i never spread my seed but such is life thinking back to imagine that damn drone, that dusty-legged bee who deflowered the blossom -

in spring, it seems like such a good idea - and now I am carving a half-dead fruit with my canines, plundering its sad resigned life and judging it:

TOO SWEET

and not even eating the entire flesh before depositing it in a white plastic bag with all the other remainders, detritus and rejecteds of my ravenous lifestyle, a purgatory it can never escape.

you know i think i'll throw this apple core out the window instead
i wonder if it's painful for them to be eaten
or if
severing the stem
is like severing consciousness
and i am eating terri schiavo.

4:00 today will be great! and then I go away for the weekend and do drugs on a beach in San Francisco and have lots of sex, see you monday

ps today i read papamamba