The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

10.14.2003:

3:50 AM

More crap from my old notebooks.

The original date on this entry is 4.12.1996. It's taken from a series of entries I wrote while on the job when I worked at the local mall. I worked at a kiosk which sold movie and television memoribilia (It was actually a pretty cool job, as I was a pretty big collector of the crap this store sold).

The series - 55 entries in all - are called "Mall Daze". Here's Mall Daze V (5):

Mall Daze V

Is this a new trend?
Booth Writing?

Today is "Fuck Up Day" at the mall. Every single gene pool reject ever created has come up to good ol' southlake mall to visit me. I want to scream. The barrage of mindless questions never ceases.

"Which way is Rich's?"
"Head toward the sign that says 'Rich's'."

"Where's the nearest bathroom?"
"Open your mouth, I'll show you."

Talked to Mandy last night, hard to do that when Michael keeps making jokes at her expense. She is really stupid. I have no clue why I am with her.

MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL MALL

God, the most depressing figure of all time just walked past me. Eyes droopy, slouched posture. Short gait, shuffling past like quasimodo.

Slay the children now, spare them the tortures of shopping at the Gap.

I want a good body. One that I can travel the world unclothed with and no one would want to arrest me, for they love my body so much and are touched by its beauty.

The past is a freight train that allows you a moment's head start then barrels toward you and runs you right over. The only way to avoid it is to step off the track and onto the road beside, where a Yugo full of depression and decaffinated coffee slams into you at it's top speed of 40 miles an hour.

Yah. I know.

Anyway, In this "Mall Daze" series are 4 entries over 7 days, all of them detailing a new girl who had started working at The Limited store across from the kiosk I ran. In each entry, I went into detail about how beautiful she was, how her hair flowed like silk in an autumn breeze, how gracefully she seemed to move as she walked, her poise and posture, all that great stuff. I would go into insane missives about how I longed to learn everything about her - her greatest fears, her most cherished achievements, etc. and so forth.

Then, there's a 5th entry. It says:

"I met the girl from The Limited today. Her name is Megan, and she is a bitch."

And that's it. That's all it says.

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