took some more pictures and fell asleep on the sidewalk outside a bar. I went back to my room, found a note on the door. I dont know if I read it or not. Maybe I ignored it. I stood close to the wall, slid into my apartment like somebody's tongue in my mouth. I sat on the steps, my head in my hands thinking. I put the note next to me. I heard Coltrane pacing around in the room next to mine, playing modal scales over and over. I was in a bar being talked to by a woman with a dark face, big dark eyes, long white graceful neck. Full red lips. Her face torn apart, torn open like paper. I read the paper looking inside her mouth. And what a mouth it was! Her tongue had faces of women all over it like fever blisters living in the spare room from the world of tomorrow, a grim horrible vision of my wet hands wrapped around her throat, sweat dripping from her hair, lips smiling. I opened a door and looked inside for a magazine. An old dog lifted his leg and pissed on my computer. I walked across the street mad enough to kick him but I was in a robe. No, I wasn't in a robe. I was in my bed and a red light flashed on and off through the window. I remembered that I changed my mind about the photo shoot.
It was nauseating but when I thought about photography I forgot I was sick. The woman with a face like dull darkness bent over at the waist and her short skirt got even shorter. She gave me her hand, I gave her something else. She pressed her body against me. I was embarrassed that I couldn't think of anything else to do so I picked up my camera. I was furious that I couldnt kick the habit. It was unnatural. It was absurd. I sat down across the table. She crossed her legs and they fell off her body. I took a picture of them and had no repentance, not even an apology. She laughed. It was terribly funny. I felt crushed. I dropped my camera...... again. Without saying a word her skin began to crumble off her face. That gave me bad gas. My stomach was bloated. I was in a pure state of morbid illness.
