oh i love the hip the hip oh i love the hip 700 times i've heard this song and sinking i can't write a three day novel in three days and still do my other work. and now i have to think about finding another paper to write for because i just don't see how i will be able to reconcile myself there now. i mean when i was first there, the editor let me do what i wanted. they never clocked my hours or anything. they just watched the paper be suddenly some buzz people were talking about. all the stuff about welfare and just my antics in general. well, i want to keep doing what i'm doing but i don't know. i love the public speaking. but i don't get paid for it or anything. i have to take buses, i mean i get no credit. they act like that's just me showing off. hey, i don't need welfare anymore. i'm just trying to give back. and yes fucking fuck me, but i'm trying to show people how to empower themselves. but to the paper, it's just me being a movie star or something. i'm getting really pissed...so we'll see. we watched 'dead ringers' the doctors were from toronto. pretty wild movie so no novel. i just can't. i mean i have a publisher waiting for this manu_script_ and to start something else seems stupid. so i went to speak to female offenders, ended up cracking them  up for 2 hours. i know my shit. i do. so. what else. martyville. i'm still waiting for his picture. i can't even look. but i told him he's not allowed to hear from me or talk to me for 24 hours. he takes me for granted already. he's all like 'you're already mine...' bastard i saw the italian man today and i woudlnt' even look at him but he is so sweet looking my god stop it send him back and i was pulling dead flowers and he had a case of beer on his shoulder (he doesn't have a car) and i saw him and looked away and kept working. cause i hate him. and then he stopped at my neighbor's house and gave everyone a beer. bastard. i am inside blasting music now. marty ohmygod i can't  believe i'm doing this. i mean. i love men who scare me. but the closer i get to the day, the scarier he's getting. little details here and there me don't know what me getting into and i don't care...i was on the bus to the female offender's and i was like jo, are you really willing to risk so much to go there? and the answer came back instantly yyyehhhhsssss see, you all think i'm nuts but the way i look at it, well i've survived so much and i just trust my ability to survive. which is the same as trusting god. tragically hip giftshop it's in my bus column. just a little. listening to this song while on the top of a ferris wheel while tripping...come on...i mean it was a triple cum fest. (but i didn't mention that in my column) the pendulum swings...i figure one of these times, i mean my luck with men defies odds. i mean in pure statistical random numbers, after dealing with the number of men i have, the numbers would suggest that one time i would get lucky. awhore by a century and dissappointing you is gettin' me off oh i'm a whore. that's how i sing that song. it's the ghost of bob who is going to be writing for my paper and he's married and i'm a loser. i'm the loser. he's married. i mean. it just doesn't seem right. oh fucking fuck this. i'm going to see that bastard marty and we'll just see what the hell happens and i don't care what he does or anything. i am going to totally trust him with my life but imagine you're in a car with a great guy and i mean then the next second he pulls out a gun and starts telling you to take your panties off .... it's just my opinion that any man, i mean. men have this potential, this deadly nightmare sex thing. oh fuck me, just the ones i end up with fucking fuck and fuck it makes me nuts. i *dare* men into loving me ...  it's pretty fun now that i think about it. men hear of the secret they pass in upholstered silence i love you men. with one look, one look from a woman and you guys are bit, fangs in the neck with just a smile, smiles dripping from our lips, dangling from our titties, our entire body like an index finger motioning to *you* oh i could be soo man-ipulative. i will torture marty until he wants me so bad he wants to kill me. and the whole time i will seem too innocent, so frail. so fucking confusing that will drive him even crazier until he can no long look to me to follow for direction. until he has to take the entire situation into his own hands, remember every filthy word of e-mail i sent. he knows *exactly* what i want. i tell him on the phone, too. so no matter how confusing i am, and i don't even mean to but it is possible to feel a million things at once and whoa, i mean i get so, like. *alive* you have to tie me down to keep me from just floating away on the wings of my heart (i feel like i'm flying alot. i just am lifted right off the chair. it's wild. oh does that gordie when he sucks the air through his teeth real hard when he's singing and bam...hoverville. don't tell anyone or they'll lock me up) i can't believe there is a cute, single man drinking beer four houses away from me. and it's the end of summer. already. and only one more week with madge here. then i go to marty. i come home. madge leaves. i start exploring parts of myself i haven't met yet. i will dance in the dark through my whole house every night wearing one of my excellent little nighties, i have tons, they are soooo cute and i'll sneak in my back yard and i will be all alone which makes me feel sooo sexual for some reason. well...leo and madge gone...no more kids just me. to do whatever i want. oh my god. my nipples tingle thinking about being alone. about not being a mother. about being a woman. for the first time. all alone. no one watching. just me and my everything. just me. makes me nuts. makes me want to climb a tree and masturbate while rubbing my breasts on the bark and i mean rubbing, scraping and then after i get my breath again just sit up there knowing, just knowing i can do *anything* man, the effects of sexlessness are settling in i guess....no, i just feel like i'm about to be a woman for the first time. isn't that weird? i took off my pants and had madge hit me with a belt. i swear to god i have welts that look like horse-shoes all over my curvy, and i mean curvy hips. i remember being beat with a belt with i was little and screaming crying. but i had madge hit me soft at first. i didn't even flinch. i told her to him i mean hit me as hard as she could and i still didn't flinch. and it didn't hurt, well it did but not that bad. and we laughed and laughed. isn't that weird? i have welts but, i don't know. i feel so proud of myself. well, i don't know. one less thing in the world i have to be afraid of. and i'm afraid of men but ha! i react by being stupid. i mean fearless. i mean they lie to me, they abandon me to raise their child, beat me up, rape me, i mean brutal shit. and i laugh now. ah ha ha cause what those men taught me was that i can take ANYTHING they can dish out. so being able to be beat with a belt and not flinch? it makes me giggle with delight. me and madge are bad. we are. bad girls. tomboys. you know. the kind of girls who would lift our dresses for boys, and not just 'cause they wanted me to, but so i could watch their reaction, try and figure out why they wanted to see what i saw all the time, so bad. i loved the look on their faces. i wrote a poem about taking off my panties when i was little and getting on a tire swing while a bunch of boys were below me. they froze. i scared them. i stopped swinging and got off and went home. they never moved. after that, no one ever mentioned it. ever. funny. stopped asking me to lift up my dress, too. and i started wearing pants. so. well just so you know i've always been just a little too brave. but see, that's cause, well life in my house. that was the scariest place and i lived through that. and sex, well i saw the most hard-core pornagraphy as far back as i remember. movies. all kinds of stuff. my dad made us read playboy. portnoy's complaint. weird shit. so. you know. so now i don't have to be afraid, and oh, the luxury. but i am wigging about going to see marty. which feels like a good sign...like i should be. but i am excellently grateful to go. he is sooo much fun. and of course i won't stay away from him for 24 hours. if i could, well then that isn't what i call love and sure, what i call love is regarded as some sick shit. i mean people talk shit about 'hostage situations' but i want to be taken hostage. the problem is i don't know how long i'll want that .... i've never had it. so. me just hope marty will be reasonable if things don't work out but i mean when he says he'll never let me go. well. i don't think he's kidding. which is a strange and wonderful feeling but has this silent side. like. um. oh what am i worried about. i've driven more devoted men away i'll tell you that. without even trying so i mean. i never leave men. i mean i never have a chance. well until they come back cause they all come back, even mr.amsterdame and i get such thrills telling them that they can't have me. cause i mean. someone comes back but nothing ever changes. at first, the balance of power is more balanced. but i give too much, give them all. then they have all the power and not one fucking man has been able to handle it without taking me for granted or taking advantage to just not try as hard. to just kinda just fuck with me a little since i'm so, um, *cool* no, don't get jojo a valentine's card. she's too cool. oh, you want to fuck another woman? jojo will understand, she's really cool. or, you need a dame for the week-end before you move on to another phase of your brilliant career? jojo will understand. and if she doesn't, grind her down into a fine powder you can blow off your computer screen. another midnight is playing and it gives me tears in my eyes. i know a lot of hip fans...well no one talks about this song. but i, well it does something for me no other song does. gordie hums along and the whole song is a big *yes* and a big *hold on* like a cadillac breaking through a road block and on the other side we can dive in the ocean and we can breath underwater like mr. and mrs. george limpett and we glide through the water and never stop moving and the scenery is always beautiful, always changing. cool and soft and underwater, well it has its own music. so. okay. i know i'm strangely desperate. but it makes me really dedicated. it does. i mean the zenith of dedication is obsession so i don't want to change that. i'm willing to take the punches i guess. sure. and madge didn't phase me with that belt. funny. wow. i feel so confident. like i can walk down the street thinking you can beat me with a belt and i don't care i mean i remembering it hurting really bad. isn't that strange? i mean i remember it stinging, i mean like wild. maybe pain is, as all things, relative even unto ourselves... of course! suffering: the choice of a new generation imagine being a civil war soldier with half your leg blown off, wide awake while some guy amputates. she kinda bit her lip geez, i don't know. hey, i'll have you know i've been bathing daily and am totally on birth control. locked and loaded. ain't i funny? i will be having sex in one week. unless my plane blows up or some shit. i come from alabama with a whore across my knee maybe i should just make marty squirm a little the appearance of force jesus christ. another cute man just walked by. there's lots of people on my street. i hope you all come here the last week-end in september even though i have to speak at a church on the 29th. gosh. i feel so popular. people think i sound so sad sometimes. i guess. but i am not a sad person. i am the funniest fucker alive except for gordie. oh i am so arrogant i guess. sorry. but i am funny. how funny all depends... wow will i be funny for marty and i will never be able to shut up and i better bring some tagamet i mean tons before i start drinking doubles on the plane for hours. headphones on the airplane for sure. i got a window seat but there's nothing to see. well. it'll be funny looking at clouds. anyfucking way. i am a happy jo lucky kinda girl. even when i cry and ache i am still funny. so. that's all. tomorrow i have to go to work. bill clinton cancelled his show here. man. everyone cancels pittsburgh. counting crows, tragically hip oh, when i heard they cancelled the show, i couldn't believe it. someone gave birth? i was like, well you can't be pissed off about it, eh? still....right in the middle of october...but they made up for it here. i mean hooolllly shit. dang. a common nautical disaster i wrote about the cowboy junkies. i swear to god, whoever writes press kits, it makes me ill. PR prose...much worse than purple prose. it's so bad it's insulting. insulting. i mean someone beat them with a thesarus because oh man. never mind. i never did see a t-hip press kit. i think it's better this way. last night i dreamed i was in an excellent apartment with a million rooms and then i had to be in a beauty contest held on a boat that was a prison and i fucking won and i didn't even want to be in it and my mother sure was happy and then i just quit. started throwing shit. then i woke up. okay. back to work. sorry y'all. i'll write when the hell i can. another midnight. i am in love with that song. totally. that feeling. man. yes. i mean such a yes i try to say it sitting here and it's sooo beautiful that my throat can barely make a sound. oh. me grateful for hip later bastards, the ho on the go momyjo psst...i'm going to a very happening party tomorrow with only the most intelligent and savvy people and am going to drink like a whore and force everyone to hear marty stories and if they don't play the tragically hip, i'll leave. me not kidding. they try to put on some ska or something, i'm leaving. i mean. never mind. all things have there place. but i need tunes. even the lesbians let me play the hip. and it makes me so happy to blast my tunes while all my nieghbors are out. and the stange man down the street is hearing the hip. lucky bastard better not get drunk and start sneaking around. if his barefeet feel my grass, he'll be forever in love with me...i mean my grass. it's amazing. it is. okay. time to write to marty and tell him i'm a pathetic fool and he just better get used to my lack of resistance and my housepet dedication. housepet. hmm...sexpet. yes. funny. yeah and then they end up tripping and spilling coffee on their last clean shirt cause i come out of no where to curl around their leg and they know they're not allowed to be mad cause i didn't really do anything wrong which makes them even more annoyed. so eventually i end up shivering in a corner afraid to even move. oh that is tooo depressing but that's the whole thing in a nutshell but i will not change. i think the way i love is sooo much fun. well. for a little while...wrap it up, i'll take it.