why is tim harrington such a badass? i love his bras and love his ripped t-shirts and love his bald head for he, my friends, is a true rockstar. true.
and the faint made me dance like a maniac on the floor. new moves released, gripping at my head. moving so fast my eyes dizzy me. and light hits the wirings and metal and the kids dance in the dark lit up with the pictures flashing like strobes.
delinquents at the pool drinking girly drink in muggy weather while clouds cover the sky just enough so the sun don't shine.
at least i didn't get a ticket for urinating in public.
smears of ink and cooking in the kitchen wearing mirrored sunglasses.
the ocean is big and blue.
i wonder what it would be like to be a caterpillar. caterpillars are little and everything else is so big. a caterpillar could crawl on my kitty's paws and look like a kitty bracelet.


in other news, i have been sick. and at a party last night, i somehow managed to lose my voice. now when i lose my voice, bruce comes out. i sound like a man. that is all.


i changed my mind.
all i want to do is listen to the cardigans, be cheeky and blow snot on tissues.


and looked at this
nobody came to play today.
so i talked to john instead.
i'm eating from a plastic pudding cup and i'm all alone.
it's books and bbc for me this afternoon.
there is a some mist blowing about in the wind outside.
strawberries are in season.
life gets so much better when you take a trip by yourself.
and then we giggled over hamburgers at the guy with the hideous sun glasses.


the postal service was like that jimmy eat world video with all the shaking ass. the floor was actually moving. dancing is the next wave.
and cex duct taped the microphone to his head.
we spent a day out in the sun by the water and the girls with thongs. it's not so easy for me to brave the cold.
drawing nudes in correct proportion and studying reproductive rituals in biology with demonstrations by the professor.
i spraypainted cheeky on my new striped underpants. hot pink and pale blue on black and gray.
pink champagne sipped from a blue plastic cup as i sit in an outside parlor at veronica's. i love dancing to random ass eighties music, the cure, and two live crew. gabe and rebecca played hero with the alcohol poisoned gentleman in the restroom who ended up puking on the couch i had occupied earlier. we all waited up until the kid's mom came to pick him up at four am.
gucci on baseball caps and handsome prince charmings.


my life right now consists of independent and foreign films, james brown, the talking heads, and using pencils to hold up my hair.
i got in to design.


a mirrored ball deflects light that rotates around and disperses like stars. there is a sudden orange glow of a lighter lighting a cigarette whose smoke rises and curls and disappears. the light changes with the movement of bodies.
we can hear a pindrop within the music.
and then my entire frame is entered and exited by the whole room.
full of violins and organ and drum and strong foreign voices.
it's hard to find words for something like that.
i am physically shaking.
and my eyes were more open than yours.
and i see in those moments why the earth is still spinning.