slide guitar with the sheets pulled up close. they crease and fold smoothly over your body in the pale night. the floodlight from across the way peeks through the slits in the blinds, but it is dark enough to close eyes and fall. we read side by side with the lamp perched upon the bedside table.
summer is getting too long.
a guy walked by on the drag boom box in hand, hanging at his side. so totally old skool.


i don't care what anybody says. peter pan. i am so there.
i wish i could fly to neverneverland. mermaids and pirates and gold and jungles. i wish i could fly. not in an r. kelly way. but in real life.
we drank pink champagne.
my sister spent the night and we watched anime and ate popcorn with cheese sprinkles. thanks ms. butter.
ali bought a blinged out necklace with a letter a. jealous? much.
everything feels so busy and it's hard to concentrate on smaller things.
can i move to new york?
i love you peter pan.


the documentary premieres august thirty first.
nine thiry on showtime.
it's free that week.
i guess be there if you want to see this in the tv flesh.


i just talked to damion aka ugly gorilla face. everything i wanted him to have (which is everything he always thought would never happen) he has now. and that feels good. it makes me so fucking happy.
as lame and eighties as it sounds, everything will be good if you give it time.
shit's not supposed to be some tragic bildungsroman, but the world is seen from the eyes of holden caulfield lately.
i like horchata when it's warm outside. sweet and yummy.
my cough is getting better.


i knew the party was cool when the guy with the mustache showed up.
it was fucking radical.
the living room was a sauna. augustus tried to dj drunk off of mini-wines and destroyed our house in the process. gauges in the wall, broken tamborines, bottles thrown out the window. never knew a kid in a cape could cause that much damage. some kid kept jumping off the roof and brian's finger got sliced up when someone threw a bottle at our microwave. he left a trail of blood on the stairs and a pool in my hand.
the key to a good party is carnage.
i danced a little, tipsy on rum, and sold buttons from a fanny pack.
brian made me louis vuitton buttons that i wore on my pony shirt.
travis and i did a little run to the grocery store at one.
i compliment too much when i'm feelin' good.
ali plus tina equals one hundred percent lez.
i ate cake.
kids did it in the bathroom.
i almost beat some guy up and tina went nuts and threatened to call the cops at our own party.
like, three hundred people showed up.
all and all, a success.


i vote houses without central air window units or even fans are stupid.
i seriously don't remember the last time i hung out somewhere with central air.
other than brian's.
matthew barney is a weirdo, and we've been blessed here in the great ol' city of austin with the chances to see all of cremaster cycle. i bet bjork's and his kid is uber weird. everything , in all it's oddness appears crispand natural, like some beautiful dream that stays for too long after eyes are once again opened. blood covered faces and an emaciated woman struggling out of a mound of earth. the other four are playing later this week, for the art fag that wants to know.
mark of negativland presented a multimedia discussion at the drafthouse last night. my new heroes send out fake press releases and get sued by u2. these guys are from england and who gives a shit.
sex and the city marathons on the newly formed girl's nights provide sharing sexual deviations and falling over about stanford.
we hopped up onto the porch and talked about everything. i felt old seeing how he'd grown. the moon was low and the backyard crowded. the new kid smoked cigarettes as we talked about photography and architecture. little augustus ran about in his crimson cape bottle of wine empty and set lose to dj. cleaning cups found on the ground and wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand.
sometimes i like winter better.


pink smells like pigs. silver smells like garbage. green smells like freshly cut grass. purple smells like popsicles. orange smells like an orange or the sun. blue smells like a bluebird or the ocean. red smells like cherries.
but pink and orange smell like sunset.
this is when those little kids jerk the maternal side of me.
aww so precious.
if you place steel wool atop two batteries, it catches on fire. this woman with a man's voice is teaching me how to cook bacon on a tin can. look out homeless life, here i come.
i like kisses on my forehead.
and laying in bed all curled up.


the cute dad across the way is dancing with his girlfriend outside on the cement. they're dancing with his little boy too.
homemade vanilla banana milkshakes are muy good.


spidery clouds stain the dark sky.
i found ash in my bellybutton after the little fireflies of light.
shadows play off the wall.
and rain dripped slowly, seductively down the window. the sound helps me sleep while the sky is cloudy.
last night, we sat under large leafy trees at a wobbly table. i look homeless amoung the fashionistas. but listen, with interest, to everything that is said.
benny and i watched the dogs run and jump into barton springs for hours as we sat on rocks by the water. we dipped our feet in. the cold felt good on my feet.
i made organic shells and cheese yesterday and felt like a hippie.
alison and i have been harassed by three seperate groups of mexicans.
first time i saw him, he was wearing a spandex eighties tank with a huge tiger head plastered on the front. the next day, an embriodered jacket with flowers and swirls with nothing underneath. we dubbed the boy with a curly fro and army green capris with ribbons and strings for a belt the knave of gypsies.
aaron and i exchanged recipes for the poor. eggs, potatoes and bread. you'd be amazed at the meals.
so an invite for a movie means a make out session. if you're asked to come over and listen to records, it means you're going to get laid. i'm glad aaron informed me of such use(less)ful information.
movies: makeout
records: rubbers
be prepared. it's the boy scout way.
i thought i heard an owl, but it was just a mourning dove.
i watched the streets grow from blue to gold outside of my window.