Weight and money.
Top button/crisps.

Being alone blows ( Read more... )

I'd treat you like a king if you thought you deserved it.

I have a soft, wet box where I keep the awful things. I arrange nails with care among folds of warm, oily fur, between ribs and hidden deep inside pulsating organs. Settled inside the spongy marrow are tiny shards of glass. My box has a liver but it's never been used.

I've been jittery and (more) absent-minded (than usual) for the past few days and I know it's because of the sporadic communication with the (new) boy. During (and after) the holidays he'd call me every day and we'd spend every waking (and not) hour together and now my e-mail has gone unanswered and I pulled a creepy-girlfriend by calling him this ( Read more... )

Last night I threw up in the Blizzarts bathroom after downing sinus medication, caffeine pills and and unverified amount of gin and Rockstar. I'm brilliant ( Read more... )

Know what I'm doing? NOT watching a movie because my creepy homebody roommate hogs the bandwidth by staying up all night downloading porn so he can wank to it all day and never leave the apartment, ever, except to buy groceries.

These days I'm kicked in the face and spit on. Nobody notices because I've always looked like that. I wish Jocelyn were here because she has my pot.

I feel like the members of Beirut developed their sound by constantly asking themselves "What would Ms. Havisham listen to? What kind of music would I listen to if I always wore a dusty wedding dress and kept all my clocks at twenty to nine? If I refused to clear up my uneaten wedding feast?"

...the giant wall covered in grafitti where we shotgunned tall cans and kissed on the mouth...

I really like a boy.