Kathleen Hanna and I are waging psychological warfare (and having a thrash girl dance party in my bedroom).

Rebel girl, you are the queen of my world.

fuck fuck shit fuck fuck housing motherfucker ucla shit fuck fuck fuck.

Dear Los Angeles ( Read more... )

I'm now officially unemployed and homeless -- my desk is cleared out, all the personal files deleted from my work computer. I don't have a key to the house I sleep in, presenting the possibility that if I come home too late I might find myself sleeping outside on a trampoline. It hasn't happened yet ( Read more... )

It has happened suddenly ( Read more... )

M. Laruelle wondered if it was going to rain: it sometimes, though rarely, did at this time of year, as last year for instance, it rained when it should not. And those were storm clouds in the south. He imagined he could smell the rain, and it ran in his head he would enjoy nothing better than to get wet, soaked through to the skin, to walk on ( Read more... )

Very little of my appearance changed over the seventeen years between these photos.


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I basically still look exactly like that (only more sleepy, now).


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"I studied under Kroeber at California and worked with Lévi-Strauss at São Paulo, classified several societies, catalogued their rites and attitudes on occasions of birth, copulation, initiation and death; did extensive and well-regarded studies on the rearing of female children in the Mato Grosso and along certain tributaries of the Rio Xingu, and ( Read more... )

I saw this poem in the journal of a stranger, inside a long entry on change, and I felt like the world was smaller -- this is the first poem I ever heard of Larkin's, being read aloud by a semi-celebrity, and I still like it best ( Read more... )