Welcome to Texan Unicorn diary. Are you drunk? Stoned? You don't have to be. I suck at issuing prescriptions and suggestions. I woke up, called my bank. I have eight dollars in my account. I was dismayed at first but then I was jubilant. I don't have to leave the house today! So I haven't. I've been posting naked selfies at Instagram and working on a novel I started writing in 2014. Fuckerbutt Happy Time. I was at Facebook in 2014, calling everyone "fuckerbutts" with affection. I told my son that I wanted to use the word "fuckerbutt" in my title. "What goes good with 'fuckerbutt'?" I asked him. He thought about it for a few seconds then replied,"Happy time."
Yesterday when I picked my son up from school I said,"It's a perfect day for bananafish!" He asked,"What are bananafish?" I told him about the story. Then I told him about a Ray Bradbury story I read that made me sob. The Messiah. He listened, asked questions. I told my son I love him more now than I did when he was a newborn baby because now we can talk and there's more of him to know.
My maternal grandmother's fourth baby was a stillborn. I may have the year wrong but I think she was born on February 18, 1962. I was born on February 17, 1973. My aunt's name (even though she was born dead and never became a person I refer to her as my aunt) is (not was...is) Velvet Lou Ferrier. My name when I was born was Misti Velvet Rainwater. My name is now Misti Velvet Rainwater-Lites but this confuses many a motherfucker so you can call me Cookie/Misti/Roxi Xmas/Kim Wu/Koko Loko. So much depends upon a damn hyphen.
I put Velvet in my novel Walking The Earth. I deleted the novel from my storefront but plan to revise it and publish it again. In Walking The Earth she is Ava. It's a nonlinear, often surreal narrative. It was inspired by a man, of course. Capricorn sun. Taurus moon. Libra rising. We were in a Laundromat in Eagle Pass, Texas and I was upset because I'd received a judgmental e-mail from my Libra sister. My man at the time said,"What's your family's problem? They should be glad you're still walking the earth." BINGO.
I scrawled the rough draft of Fuckerbutt Happy Time in two different red journals and a Justin Bieber notebook. No, I'm not a Justin Bieber fan. I've never heard any of his songs (that I'm aware of, but shit is always blasting across the fuckscape without my consent). I'm a fan of cheesy notebooks. I am eternally twelve years old. The other day I was watching "Juno" and saw my El Diablo metal lunchbox in Juno's room. The Juno character is sixteen. But I am eternally twelve and crushing on David Lee Roth in the "Panama" video. "Reach down...between my legs...and ease the seat back." BABY.
While revising today I added some new stuff, as I am wont to do. I appropriated Gertrude Stein's If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso. Stein references Napoleon in her piece. I reference Travolta in mine. There are other differences. I'm by no means married to Stein's words. I'm only married to mine. We are still very much in the honeymoon phase.
The manuscript includes a love letter to Richard Ramirez. I'm not one of those sick chicks who creams over CSI episodes and slasher flicks. I don't collect serial killers. Manson and Bundy do nada for my libido. But I watched the prison interview at YouTube years ago and crushed on the guy. Today I looked up his chart and my crush makes perfect sense. I put his astro info in the manuscript. The manuscript is loaded with astrology. And crushes. And actual sex with actual men. I'm not naming or damning anyone. Fuckerbutt Happy Time is not a memoir, an indictment or a cautionary tale. It is an eBuLLieNT googly eyed spitfire FUCK YOU scrawl. It's a mess. It's Kathy Acker and Henry Miller in a Ninja...that's a food processor. It's my blood my stars my fire my water. It's me gasping for air in 21st century San Antonio, Texas. That's all. I will promote the fuck outta my book once I publish it.
Yesterday when I picked my son up from school I said,"It's a perfect day for bananafish!" He asked,"What are bananafish?" I told him about the story. Then I told him about a Ray Bradbury story I read that made me sob. The Messiah. He listened, asked questions. I told my son I love him more now than I did when he was a newborn baby because now we can talk and there's more of him to know.
My maternal grandmother's fourth baby was a stillborn. I may have the year wrong but I think she was born on February 18, 1962. I was born on February 17, 1973. My aunt's name (even though she was born dead and never became a person I refer to her as my aunt) is (not was...is) Velvet Lou Ferrier. My name when I was born was Misti Velvet Rainwater. My name is now Misti Velvet Rainwater-Lites but this confuses many a motherfucker so you can call me Cookie/Misti/Roxi Xmas/Kim Wu/Koko Loko. So much depends upon a damn hyphen.
I put Velvet in my novel Walking The Earth. I deleted the novel from my storefront but plan to revise it and publish it again. In Walking The Earth she is Ava. It's a nonlinear, often surreal narrative. It was inspired by a man, of course. Capricorn sun. Taurus moon. Libra rising. We were in a Laundromat in Eagle Pass, Texas and I was upset because I'd received a judgmental e-mail from my Libra sister. My man at the time said,"What's your family's problem? They should be glad you're still walking the earth." BINGO.
I scrawled the rough draft of Fuckerbutt Happy Time in two different red journals and a Justin Bieber notebook. No, I'm not a Justin Bieber fan. I've never heard any of his songs (that I'm aware of, but shit is always blasting across the fuckscape without my consent). I'm a fan of cheesy notebooks. I am eternally twelve years old. The other day I was watching "Juno" and saw my El Diablo metal lunchbox in Juno's room. The Juno character is sixteen. But I am eternally twelve and crushing on David Lee Roth in the "Panama" video. "Reach down...between my legs...and ease the seat back." BABY.
While revising today I added some new stuff, as I am wont to do. I appropriated Gertrude Stein's If I Told Him: A Completed Portrait of Picasso. Stein references Napoleon in her piece. I reference Travolta in mine. There are other differences. I'm by no means married to Stein's words. I'm only married to mine. We are still very much in the honeymoon phase.
The manuscript includes a love letter to Richard Ramirez. I'm not one of those sick chicks who creams over CSI episodes and slasher flicks. I don't collect serial killers. Manson and Bundy do nada for my libido. But I watched the prison interview at YouTube years ago and crushed on the guy. Today I looked up his chart and my crush makes perfect sense. I put his astro info in the manuscript. The manuscript is loaded with astrology. And crushes. And actual sex with actual men. I'm not naming or damning anyone. Fuckerbutt Happy Time is not a memoir, an indictment or a cautionary tale. It is an eBuLLieNT googly eyed spitfire FUCK YOU scrawl. It's a mess. It's Kathy Acker and Henry Miller in a Ninja...that's a food processor. It's my blood my stars my fire my water. It's me gasping for air in 21st century San Antonio, Texas. That's all. I will promote the fuck outta my book once I publish it.
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