So, it's my birthday on Wednesday. Can't figure out what to get me? Vote NDP tommorow. That's a great gift, for me.

How's this for a self-imposed mind fuck: Listening to Bob Marley, while reading Fanon, on my lunch break from at an oil company. Does that make me bourgoise?

I think my old film teacher has a little crush on me, ingenue-style. I think that that's a little bit rad, on account of he's sort of "handsome" (he has a very square face).

Dear The Internet ( Read more... )

It's Brent's birthday this weekend. We're having a party on Friday (some time after nine). We toyed with a bunch of themes, but we didn't like any of them enough, so if you want, you can make up your own theme and dress accordingly.

I just found out that I Bon Jovi looks like a frosted-tipped Lou Reed. And instead of wallowing in his pathetic excess, he's flaunting it. He's no fucking Buddy Holly, Leno; you douche bag.

So, I'm loaded, and it's valentines day and it's probably the worst time to commit anything to Livejournal permanency , but, like I said, I'm loaded, so ( Read more... )

So, okay. My tits are small. Compact and practical, even. That said, show-mo lesbo midways, i.e a white leather couch at Rejections, is not the place to announce such things to your not so well disguised SMW chum. I.E FUCK OFF, PEROXIDE BULLSHIT. That's all.

I spent the whole walk to work daydreaming about "After Frank" and SRII's. On my way in the door to the mall, I crossed paths with Walter Forsyth-he looked like he was in a hurry. He made me blush and smile to myself. I think I have a bit of a crush on him, and if I told him that, he'd probably laugh uncomfortably. I think that's adorable.

When I'm at work, my brain goes numb and I can't seem to think of much anything at all. Mark thinks about the following:
-speculative fiction
-subtle anarchy
-nuclear power as an elusive gift from the past
-an apocalypse of values