a few days ago I thought of writing a Taco Bell diary since I eat there everyday, then mistakenly thought my fortune had changed, only to come crashing down again, and here I sit eating my first meal of the day, a light 7-layer burrito, hot sauce, free ice water, a crazy old hag beside me talking to herself saying "don't worry about it," really talking to me via spiritual forces sending me words I need to hear and one of the femme employees in the uniform with red violet cap sits with her old grandmother who hangs a loaded Taco Bell bag on her walker eats from a tray heaped with nachos. They speak Spanish. I wonder of the young woman gives her grandmother all that food for free and why did I lie about my own consumption, I'm eating a light taco supreme as well worried about my weight, cursed by my honesty, Koon Woon says is my trade mark as I kill time will pick up my dry cleaning now or after I visit my shrink?

important words come to me through Koon Woon emanating from Shiva to Brahma from Koon to me, tells me I'm a good writer will be an excellent one in 5 years the young guy two tables down eats so loudly I hear every mouthful and remember running into Alton here, cuter than ever, cleaned up, not doing cocaine, planning to go to Europe on Monday, for six weeks, "You never fucked me!" he accused, reminded, when he mentioned a new girlfriend accompanying him on his trip--recalling when we first met five months before, me newly returned from 4 years in Asia, he'd never been anywhere, felt inferior, now he had his trip, a new job at the Aqua restaurant when he gets back 6 weeks from Monday, we discussed mutual associates, he looked me up and down calculating the cost of my leather coat, expensive suede boots, new dress, my MS form Hong Kong on the table before me unopened, newly received from an editor for me to rewrite an ending, Alton got up, "it's obvious someone is taking care of you," under his breath, bent knees, then straightened, dashed out the door, he didn't know I followed him for three or four blocks thinking, god he's gorgeous, he didn't know I loved him too but then I guess he did when I disappeared five moths ago

8.17 Taco Bell diary

headed out the apartment door at 11:30am stopped at an ATM for twenty dollars stepped into the mailbox shop for a disk mailer $1.79 plus tax so broke the twenty picked up my dry cleaning:$14.45, the guy thanking me fort my business hoping I'll come again, he said, since the two items I picked up are expensive garments, designer labels, I'd bought second hand but he had no way of knowing that these are the only 2 garments I own worth the dry cleaning expense took them plastic bagged back to the apartment Donna still passed out on the black futon mattress o the floor the ten dollar bill I left still undiscovered, hung the clothes, back out, heading to taco bell, huge long line, 2 lesbians, the femme fashionably dressed, enviously checking me out, I look this way from living the life I have, they're wanna be's who think the clothes and the gender they fuck makes them(hip) instead of the other way around. I feel content, happy, good about myself for a moment and who I am and what I'm still becoming --get the usual, light soft taco supreme and light 7-layer burrito, ice water today it's not Koon but Alan Sargent I'm thinking of writing to, sending off my MS on disk, he's the first editor to help me out encourage me and we're still working on it

found out I have issues to resolve like the fact that my father regularly told me to get out of his house when I misbehaved as a child, screamed at me until my mind suffered from the thought of going out into the unknown with no money and no place to go and that I set my lovers up to shout the same words to me, to this day and I'm 41

8.19 Taco Bell diary

Koon tells me to describe the inner AND the outer algebra but my description of the outer is my inner just as the Taco Bell descriptive title; light 7-layer burrito is there interior way of saying a tortilla, sour cream, yellow cheese, guacamole, rice, refried beans, lettuce and tomato cubes

Koon had been something like the narrator of my life for whatever he writes in his letters explains to me what I'm going through just then but has decided to stop talking

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