Satan, both a puppet and a master, in a room full of felt, yarn, thread, fabric. He puts a silver charm in my hand, a round dog tag or something. I'm dressed like an asshole in some Dorothy/Alice in wonderland thing. Even curls. I pin it to a wall along with various other charms which I can only assume were gifts from him. My main man. (Before this ( Read more... )

Note: go to your calendar and find the first entry for each month of 2007. Post the first line [or so] of it in your journal, and that's your "year in review".

2007, you evil, evil beast. 2008, more honest; 200H8.

January+
Not a new year because you fucked (up).

February+
I'd rather live a wrong-doin' life.

March+I'm cutting a jar out of a ( Read more... )

I wish I was talking about things like swamps and ponds and lost rings rushing down the miniature waterfall and into the depths of the shallow, but difficult to navigate, swimming hole where girls young enough to be shirtless fling there arms out as if trying to bust out of something. But they are too short and small and so am I. Busy having ( Read more... )

I am not looking forward. I am not looking forward to this. I want I want I want it so bad ( Read more... )

I tried to write about the abundance of burning bridges, the mornings that started at 7, 8 a.m. with sunlight streaming in and cold air, Guns & Roses dancing underwear music video in the living room, champagne for breakfast, a black eye, a black eye and a dog bite on my cheek, a wedding, wedding bells and crowbars, dirty feet, getting hyphy, trying ( Read more... )

Asia tomorrow. Send me your address (sizije@gmail.com).

http://flickr.com/photos/homo_erectus

I think I had an orgasm in my sleep.

Potato cheese soup from scratch at 2 in the morning and of course the cap falls off the salt shaker just minutes before its completion. MY LIFE I HATE. I'm trying to eat it anyway. Thin LineBetween Love and Hate. I feel like I'm dumping salt into my mouth. Poke more smot.

Woke up at three. Immediately took my sweaty body into the shower. Jackhammers or something, glass being swept up [still]. In a bikini on the couch with two kittens draped over me reading a Stuff magazine I drunkenly picked up off the street last night. Then cigarettes and, jesus I'm a bum, terry cloth romper. Red OtterPop hanging out of my mouth, ( Read more... )

But what's more devastating is losing that little scrap of paper covered in little notes, quotes. Ugh. My love is not a shield, it is a sword. WTC stop on the E has the strongest urine scent of all the stops I've been to. I wasn't lying when I said everything about you turns me on. I don't think you were either. Drunk and sweat. Dirty Jerz shore. ( Read more... )