I am full
and choosing to be full
I'm on a boat, I'm in a lake,
I'm with the water, I think
I see the moon, I touch the sky
and I'm with you
I'm with you
and how long would it take
if we were trapped in elevator
after the earthquake
five stories under debris
you and me in the garden indefinitely
after 10 hours were thinking about food
we lost our voices from shouting, and screaming
and crying and singing and being really crude
my tummy rumbles but there's no guitar
so we have sex instead and we go so far
and we do that for days
til we're knee deep in cum
dehydrated, exhausted, insane aquarium
I'm with you... I am with you
and how long would it take
if we were trapped in an elevator after the earthquake
five stories under debris
you and me in the garden indefinitely
and I remember the hunger from the last time, still hear I remember the hunger
and I remember the hunger from the last time,
still hear I remember the hunger
this could go one of two ways
Hollywood rescue or bodies and bouquets
found after 3 months
smiling and bloated
the colors were great the smells they were quoted
and I'm with you ... I am with you
I'm with you ...
couth or something like it Saturday, January 4, 2003
I rolled six bills from inside my right front jeans pocket and handed them over to the cashier. I dug around for fifteen cents, which of course evaded me since there were two people standing in line behind me. As I tried to tackle a slippery nickle, I heard an impatient drumming on the counter. The brown-haired boy at the register wore two metal sheaths on his first and third fingers that sloped and pointed into long, talon like nails. The silver finger sheaths were ornate and shiny, and I tried to imagine why he would be wearing those--all the while trying to seem unsurprised by his cold, hard artificial claws. I noticed his real digits underneath were shorter and slightly deformed, though I couldn't make out much.
I thanked him, accepted my reciept with a smile and made my way out the door only to hear the girl behind me ask him loudly and without hesitation, "So, what, are you gonna stab somebody with those?"
tweakin' til the break of dawn Thursday, January 2, 2003
Guess what. My favorite little coffee shop, just two blocks from my studio, the one that features the Crackaccino (espresso x 3, chocolate, whipped cream), cute indie rock boys and bagels for just a dollar, is going to be open 24 hours a day starting next week.
Sleep, you were a kind and constant friend. Now fuck the fuck off.
gear up, bitches Thursday, January 2, 2003
I feel like a contest, so let's have one. I'll make the rules very simple.
All you have to do to win is write me a letter convincing me that you should. The best letter writer will recieve a goodie box and handmade card compiled by yours truly. I love doing that sort of shit, and am quite good at it, so the prize is totally worth your time.
There are no requirements of any kind, except that you mail your letter (attatchment free) to firstname.lastname@example.org. And remember, I'm doing this because I am bored, so entertaining trumps pleading.
Good luck, participants. The contest ends in two weeks.
books on my shelves I began but never finished Thursday, January 2, 2003
11:42 a.m. Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women, Susan Faludi Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser The Chief: The Life of William Randolph Hearst, David Nasaw John Cassevetes: lifeworks, Tom Charity A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers Understanding Media, Marshall McLuhan The List of 7, Mark Frost Infinte Jest, David Foster Wallace
pretty pretty Wednesday, January 1, 2003
11:49 a.m. Ashley's self-portraits are some of the most gorgeous I've seen on the Net. I am currently coveting the cute strappy black vintage heels faetured in the second and third photos.
resolutions Tuesday, December 31, 2002
-begin to learn to speak a foreign language (I took Latin.)
-gym 4 times per week (previous average=1)
-save $6000 by Aug. 1 when lease is up for move to big, comsopolitan city
-find work in big, cosmopolitan city
-shave legs more often
-work to develop fuller relationships with the people I care about
-visit my friend Matthew in LA (M, I'll call tomorrow night.)
-never eat after midnight
-finish Infinite Jest
-maybe fall in love
-fold laundry immediately after pulling from the dryer as opposed to letting them wrinkle in a pile in the basket
-complete a work of fiction
-develop new screenplay idea
-let go of the guilt
-see more movies
-stop allowing Ryan to intimidate me at work
-get my CD burner to work
-get a facial
-photograph something truly spectacular
-be kinder to people
-learn from my mistakes
-fuck in a new position
-learn to juggle
-call Dale and tell him what I think
-call up Dad more
on candy-covered chocolates Monday, December 30, 2002
When enjoying peanut M&Ms, which flip-flop with plain as my favorite M&M, I like to hold five or so of them in my fist to warm and soften the chocolate. I then crack it in two, width-wise, with my front two teeth (which incidentally are long and rabbitish and optimum for this type of confection dissection). The peanut remains unmarked.
Then I remove and munch one half of the candy/chocolate part. Following that I extract the peanut, again with the adroit incisors. Score one for me if the peanut stays intact.
I next poke my tongue into the cavity left by the now eaten nut and crunch down the rest.
regulars Monday, December 30, 2002
Every Sunday three or four men, all friends, come in after their 19 holes of golf or after attending a local Titans game and drink beer. Or do shots, if the mood strikes them. They are kind, respectful, patient and often hilarious. Sometimes they come in stoned and we switch it from ESPN to the Simpsons.
This is part of their conversation last night at the bar:
K: "One time I got wrecked on some Boone's Farm wine in a hottub at a HoJo with a buddy of mine and a midget. I thought I was trippin', I didn't like it. Midgets make me uncomfortable."
perspective of the barkeep Sunday, December 29, 2002
My new camera features a photo stitch option that allows the user to take panoramic photos and paste them together to create a horizontal, vertical or 360 degree view of the subject. Today I tried it out at work from behind the bar and it worked pretty well. The lighting in the restaurant wasn't great, but I skipped the flash so as not to startle bleary diners. A couple of the images are blurry because I was in a hurry, but this is basically my perspective 30 hours each week. Minus the customers. Add 50 thristy people and you too can glimpse my nightmare.
Just click on the link, wait for the download (477 KB), then use your mouse to pan left or right.
Hazel Friday, December 27, 2002
One of my fondest friends, Travis, a fellow far to unique for me to attempt to describe here, had himself an epiphany. He had one of those moments where you've gotten fully fed-up. Just all the damn way. He's 30 and working with me at the restaurant, a job we both hate but cannot leave for all the damn money we make, with just over thirty credit hours in college.
He's decided he's going back. I think his exact words were, "Girl, I am so over this fucking bullshit, this is the end for me, I swear it, so help me or I'll fucking click on a motherfucker." He doesn't care how much it costs, his family is too successful historically for him to be doing nothing.
I cheered him on and talked to him about how it's these times when we must act, about how it is our actions that seperate those who succumb and those who keep in motion. And we talked of our kidhoods and compared scars and then he told me about his grandmother, Hazel. He never got to meet her because she was murdered by the Mafia. Yet he does know her through an elaborate scrapbook she compiled of her years at university.
television for the cableless Monday, December 23, 2002
Thank you Javier Ascasibar, who included no e-mail address. Tonight I will don high heels, mix a too-strong cosmopolitan, and watch your generous gift, and dream of a life where hundreds of blow jobs under your Chanel belt, a penchant for pricey shoes and shallow (but cute) ex-boyfriends are all you need, in lieu of talent, to land a columnist job in NYC.
hammer softly into the morning Wednesday, December 18, 2002
I hope my neighbor is building something of enormous importance to mankind, like a spaceship or an ark or a big cage to trap Avril Lavigne in, and that he is just about finished with it, because I've envisioned turning that hammer on him. And I don't want to have to do that.
see what I mean? Wednesday, December 18, 2002
Misc., etc. is currently the number one search result at Google and Yahoo for "101.1 The Beat Jams" because of a misspelling. The station's name is 101.1 The Beat Jamz.
the reason for the season Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Wanna know the very best thing about Christmas? The fucking sweatshirts.
Nothing beats those sweatershirts bedazzled with green and ruby-colored rhinestones in the shape of angels. I love a good glittery sweater with candy canes and shiny packages sewn on the front. I want kittens wearing Santa hats. Fuck that, I want to see kittens making snow angels on your chest. And make your husband wear one too. That look is devestating on grown men, especially if you throw a turtleneck up under that bitch. Pimp it all out with an embroidered snowman on the neck, and I'm yours for the taking.
Nashville's first and only urban and hip-hop radio station, 101.1 The Beat Jams, is making a mockery of your fine new song. You skillfully inform the fellas that if their "girl actin' stank then call me over," yet warn them to call first so you can shave your "choca." Good thinking, girl. So good, in fact, I'll overlook that bit about eating it like a vulture. Because if you are getting sex so good you say "blah blah blah," then maybe I shouldn't be so quick to judge the whole vulture thing.
Also, "get your hair did" may be the funniest line in pop music in some time. Every time you don't rhyme that line, which would have rhymed if only you'd said "done," I laugh. Love that. Mad props for comparing your new, svelte self (Jenny Crank?) to a Halle Berry poster. Confidence is the sexiest attribute.
But best of all, you tell us that when you take your thong off your ass goes "vroom." Wow. That is some kind of ass.
Missy, you should know that 101.1 The Beat Jams isn't playing your supa-phat song. Rather, they are playing this sad little "remix," that is nothing but a commercial for their station. Rather than "Is it worth it, let me work it
I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it," some no-talent hussy sings over the chorus, "Is it worth it, let me work it, them other stations ya'll jus' worfless." Yes, worfless.
As if taking this blasphemous liberty weren't enough, they go on: if you want music, ya'll heard it, 'cause this station will reverse it. What the?!
Look, I know you have your marble tub and your five cars and your naked statue people you showed off on Cribs, but sue their asses. This shit should not stand.
probability Saturday, December 14, 2002
My findings are based on just one instance, but chances are if you agree to browsing for gay porn with your best friend at the video store, the next three people through the door are people you know.
her christmas wish Friday, December 13, 2002
I'd very much like to be able to buy a pair of jeans that doesn't expose that back of my panties when I sit down. Jeans didn't used to do this. Let's go back to that.
kava kava makes for eventful slumber Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Last night I had a dream I can't shake. I was driving a car, alone, in a big, scary blue/gray metropolis of a city at night time. The buildings were towering, like the skyscrapers of any large city, except taller. Like, miles high. I had to be somewhere, to meet someone (a boy, I think) and if I didn't arrive there before he left it would be tragic. I got the impression this is someone I had hurt in some way, through miscommunication and circumstance, and that if I could just get to where he was (a bank?) I could make everything better.
Except I was lost. Naturally. This isn't much of a stretch from how things would have transpired in real life, as my sense of direction is piss fucking poor. If I hadn't done it before, I might have trouble finding myself safely out of a paper bag. With an arrow. Poiting to an exit sign. I sometimes get lost inside my studio apartment.
But this was more than lost, this was frantic and overwhelmingly abandoned. I couldn't make out anything from the height of the buildings and from what I gathered the city proper stretched on for many hundred miles.
But, get this. My car could not make left turns. The thing worked fine, except that it wouldn't go left. Therefore, I had to try to visualize the city streets as a puzzle and backtrack, making only right turns in order to get where I was going, which was nowhere to be found. And this went on for what must have been hours. I remember, waking, sweaty and thirsty. I poured water into my mouth and suprised the toilet with a mid-night visit, and vowed to dream about rainbows and cold beer and big hands.
Instead, I went right back to lost and right-turns only, and I never made it to the boy at the bank. I suppose he's probably left by now.
cleaning house Tuesday, December 10, 2002
I updated Shutter to Think. I added the last two galleries (1, 2), got rid of that Leftovers gallery which was suffering from Red X syndrome and archived a bunch of my webcam shots, some of which never made it onto the front page. As is apparent, I love me.
And thanks to my sweetheart mother, the photos will be a-plenty in the upcoming year, and of much higher quality. The Mom is getting me this camera for Christmas. How fucking cool is that?