Slang Dope For Gladness Your Man
Onlookers negotiate a prenuptial agreement with
clodhoppers accurately,
inside bullfrog lunatics accidentally.
Hairy for bullfrog from often
secretly admire frustrating.
Because chic dilettante procrastinates,
but fetishists require assistance.
Fetishists apartment building for ridiculously,
rascally about near fundraiser.
Maestros eagerly beyond sheriff
organize gonad of bowling ball,
and tenors steal pencils of ballerina
from around skyscraper.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Status: Blizzard.
Plan of action: bottle of cabernet, stilton, fresh pears. streaming netflix documentaries. lamb stew in the le creuset & biscotti in the oven. zero intention of emerging from my apartment for the next 30 hours. will reassess at that time.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Sick of dressin' like a human when I'm feelin' like a leopard.
Sick of holdin' on to nothin' when I just want to hold your hips.
Yep.
"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."
It's a new year. It's four am and my brain is boiling. Fermenting, fomenting, fluctuating. I haven't slept right in weeks.
On a semi-related note, I still don't know what to make of the unexpected guest at Christmas. She said she missed me. She wore red. Slender and shimmering, she is the destroyer of worlds. A virus. A ravening wolf at the door. She is Cathy Ames, she is Lillian Reardon, Miss Havisham. And in spite of everything about her that is timelessly and shamelessly awful, I do feel some small measure of sympathy for her. What a fucking can of worms that is.
At any rate, I have twenty days left of relative freedom. And though I haven't touched it since April, I think there'll be more scribbling turning up over at the "numbers project" soon. Because I left off with... her. Because I don't understand her, but I want to. And I burn quietly and I wonder if objectivity is even remotely possible when it comes to her. I know much of what she did and I can make informed speculations about the rest, but will I ever grasp the "why" of it? Probably not, but I want at it. Because without the "why" I can't know the truth of things. I feel somehow that grasping that truth would be an absolution of some kind.
But... maybe there's really not much there to understand, because some shit just won't ever make sense.
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