cobra cobra cobra
my boyfriend is a hottie.
late night pixelfests are over for the semester. sighs of relief pour out of me after angered uncensored critique of an epitome of assholeness, horse races and telling tales to all the people i love. trudy's, your eighties vice decorum and early nineties club music make me puke, yet something is endearing in the way i am recalling fond memories of the rollerskating rink.
real cocoa and longing for nicktea.
scissor sisters my love.
what has been happening, i dunno. life has finally begun again.
handwritten notes on my palm.
mates of state drop and anchor me and nick.
the tiny personal sized dance club in which a "california dreamin" club remix ripped into our hearts. we ate bananas, got bitten by the cobra and watched the airplanes crash.
i doodled hearts in my notebook with you in mind. in poorly phrased french ma coeur est votre.
sea food chowder in a bread bowl before the science museum. feeding birds from my hand in the park and turkey shaped cookies as we hold hands on the walk home.
i want little beaded slippers and soft cozy shirts and you lying next to me rather than just the smell buried deep inside the shirt you left behind the time we watched bruno chase leaves and purr loudly.
cheese scones are yummy.
what book am i to read now that my bed is empty and my thoughts are not occupied by pen tools, vectors, layout and color (as much)?
do the helvetica! rosewood futura represent! font snob for life.
i can smell the stargazers.
my first kitchen set is teal and white.
cows came out when the sun did and grazed quietly by the roadside.
dear larry speck
i heart architecture
i miss carrying my camera around everywhere. wha happened?
graffiti and stencils and wheatpasting.
wolfie wolfie wolfie.