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new years.
Goodbye 2007.
I tried to live through the night and failed.
I am dead. I will be back in five hours, when I wake up.
I am so lonely. -
till you're all by yourself...
She'd leaned up a bit, grown into the height and strength of her frame, and her hair was a different color, but I recognized Kelly the moment the single-syllable truncation of my first name crossed her lips. That it had been almost a decade since we'd last seen each other was the sole reason I was able to stop from bristling at being addressed by ( Read more... ) -
analysis of the past twenty-four hours.
-Okay, Lis, I get the Ryan Adams fixation. I can take or leave Whiskeytown and most of Adams' catalog, but "Sylvia Plath" hits me ( Read more... ) -
things I think about...
With Ray Wise (Reaper, Twin Peaks, 24, etc.) and Kurtwood Smith (That 70's Show) enjoying mainstream TV success, and Paul McCrane (ER, 24) not far behind them, when can we expect the rest of the Robocop cast to make their triumphant return to the limelight ( Read more... ) -
if i could just ignore it...
I missed an important engagement today because I could barely move ( Read more... ) -
que voy hacer, je suis perdu/que hora son, mi corazon?
Most days find me so tired I can barely think, much less function, so I'm sorry for not having anything cooler to talk about these days.
Oh, never mind. I had a lot to talk about here, but I'm tired, and sad, and I think I need to get back to work, so we'll just leave this for later, as always.
I need to shave. -
all things die.
at times like these, i keep forgetting that Home For The Holidays, as brilliant as it is, ultimately reminds me of how positively depressing existence is.
kill me now. -
i crawled down to the basement when the weather got cold/like a lost lamb returning to the fold...
let it be known: John Darnielle's part on "Coffee" is some fucking dope-ass shit. (Lis, required listening--Darnielle guests on some indie hip-hop cut. Insane, and insanely beautiful ( Read more... ) -
i have my laptop, andrew has his notepad.
Andrew and I are sitting in the Doug Fir, waiting for the Gruff Rhys show to start.
Some fuckmouth hipster is kicking the foot rest of the bar we're sitting at. I'm weighing the efficacy of beating the shit out of him.
I have two billion things to say about all that's happened today. I might actually get to it later tonight.