dreaming of your own choosing

dear diary,
circa 1997 ish i was on the phone with a dear friend who opened my eyes to something indescribably simple. Before that, i had learned the lesson in elementary school. I recently had to re-remind myself about these things. If you don't remember what i'm talking about, just remember sitting on the pink carpet steps in the middle of the night, holding the phone, with tears in your eyes, hoping that the cold glass of water will help your voice stay steady. The way i feel today, is like how i felt right then, to the T. I'm sad to say that my eyes had closed since the day they were opened. But i'm awake again, today. Hopefully I'm awake forever.

si morir

tomorrow, you are going to look me straight in the eye, like a stranger with strength. you'll smile with conceit and rest a lonely cigarette against your index finger tip. you'll know i want it because i can't stop but look. I'll say no, i don't do that no more, and you'll laugh like the milky way. You'll barf into the stars, and me stand entranced. I'll never shed the thinest layer of rolled up bible paper. I'm weak, like the ants in my yogurt bowl.
Plastic bag over the head, rubber bands on the neck, leaned back much like Al Bundy, ears in a bowl of flowers, feet pointing straight towards the sky, on a black cotton robe with roses, dia de los muertos, yr the only one who'd get it.

Kasa

So typically typical. To lose one's wallet, one's umbrella, one's temper. I don't know why i can't keep a hold on things. Maybe i try to hold too much. Maybe my grasp is much more limited than i'd like to admit. If you were to call me up, though, at this raucous hour i'd stand corrected. I can't keep tabs, i can't keep plans, and i can't keep umbrellas. I love to lose. It's lovely. So play with me again, because you're a winner. You have all the luck these days.

SMB2 vs. SMB3

Wasn't there a big deal made about the newest version of Mario and Luigi? I remember watching that movie with Fred Savage. Oh, how i wanted to be in the contest. I used to be good at new games back in the day. But SMB3 was nowhere near as awesome as SMB2. Sure, that leaf would make people to fly, and you could swim under the water with a frog suit, but it wasn't anything like how you could squat into a vase and pluck vegetables in utter darkness. I used to have dreams about those levels.
So when you're looking for an explanation of why I lack imagination, or why i have a slight distaste for physical activity, well, you can blame Japan, for producing the rich, son-of-a-bitch lovin' Nintendo. God, i loved that shit, and my Sega...Seeeeegaaaaaa! Now, for sure, i'm going to leave this library and drink some chai. Hiya, chiya.

Two Ass, One Puntang

That bastard laughed his ass off at the mere mentioning of the sound of Puntang. "It's PUTang, yew idiot", his uncle yelled from across the table. It's funny when the words of Uncle Chazzy reverb lewdness throughout the park. Sitting at a picnic table provides the least amount of back support, and this hunched over, hillbilly positioning makes the words "it's PuuuuuTang, youuuuu eediot" ring like a crystalline bell on velvet. He slouches closer to his audience, your boyfriend and his two roommates, as he eyes the truck's window, "don't tell the old woman I told you this, but the way i first learned about the true meaning of Putang was in my first week in Haiphong. My buddy who i had known maybe 2 weeks before i was put on that plane, had a bit of a brain deficiency. I don't know, he was retarded or something. Honestly, i didn't think it was legal to send retards to the war, but i guess they were short of hands, or something like that. So basically, i let him follow me around mostly because i felt sorry for this poor son of a bitch. So I lost track of him after the first few days there, until we were maybe in week 9. I saw him in a local pharmacy covered in layers of those bullshit silk coverall bitch shit, and i pulled them off his head. I was mad because i was thinking this retard wasn't no retard at all, that he was actually just playing retarded so that he could ditch his duties and go fooling around in these towns. His eyes were bloodshot, and he grabbed my arm and told me that he had something to show me. The way he snarled, i just followed his pull up the steps leading to a small hut. He led me inside where I saw this old, man kneeling beside this cunt who was maybe about 13 or 14. When i try and remember, i don't think she had even got her hair yet, son. And this guy, with his beard all up in her shit, he didn't look right either. His eyes were something. Anyway, the whole point of my story kids is that when my retard buddy came in and threw the bag onto the bed, another young girl crawled in from behind a dusty crate. Her eyes, too, were bloodshot and as placed one hand on her breast and the other on the retard, she said, "Watashi wa nihon kara haifongu e ikimashta. Chichi o hanate kudasai, watashi no chichi no onamae wa Furukawa san. Ochiya o nomu mashiyo, Itsushiyo ni shimashio ka? Ie, ii desne.""
Kono onna wa takute mo ii desu. Nichi yobini watashi no uchi e irukoto ga dekimaska. Doshite, nihongo o hanatsu koto ga dekirundeska. Ikimashio. Sono hanashi wa zenzen omoshiro ku arimasen. Iidesne? Haha.

No Matter Where you Run

You just end up running into yourself. You outta believe it, poundy puppy. I noticed a little bit of a leak. It's cuz you didn't seem as full of it, as usual. Part of the nonsense we discuss, has real life consequences and still none at all. It's because this place is run by unattached jokers who tell the tales of idiots, done with the sound and the fury, signifying nothing! I semi stole that from someone famous. I just want a cigarette and to be done with it.

For Hire: Professional Snoops

For more information on the new position, please submit your resume to the following address.

http://www.geocities.com/axlelaser2/Dailysnooping.html

El Dia De Los Maridos

Mark and Traci, I wanted to preserve proof of this on the immortal reigns of cyberocity. I can't take risks with things this important.

Cuckoon

MM: Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci,Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci, Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci, spi-nning in her coc-coon......

Realization Aftereffect

(i realized that with a new title, it can be okay for this place.)

""""these childish names mean no harm when said with childish voices. but in adulthood, they mean more, they mean meaningful when yr over twenty four. they are the words that kill you when yr trying to step over the death. In an earthquake, in a fire, in a goddamn castastrophe, you'd do alot to keep one happy. I live in a time of two thousand and five, where i write in my blog, as if it were my friend. I pretend this thing is my friend, my confidant, my bff. i'd admit it to yr face if you weren't such a motherfuckingpussy ass bitch. i'd tell you to yr lips if i didn't think it would be wasted like a tree. We're all trees, you and you and me, we are all hippies in this motherfucking cruel ass motherfucking habitat of webs and trees. So fuck what you say about cleanliness and hypocrasy. We're just two or three little animals, fucking stupid berkeley squirrels who come out for the nuts and a little attention. On yr part and her part. Parts are stupid, didn't we agree on that last week?"""

SHE

is "a" smart one, but not "the" smart one to whom I always refer. She analogizes me to many things, even when i ask her not to. She's a demon in the showroom and on the dance floor. I beg of her not to show her shit. But she a smart one, i'm telling you.
She tells me what i do all wrong, why i do it, and when I'm gonna die....Truth is, I never confirm to her that she has it all right. If fact, I try and undermine the authority she feels in herself. I do such things as an after effect. When I look back on it all, i begin to wonder if i have any effect on her self esteem. I couldn't imagine that i come off that bad. Though, i can't imagine very much, unless it has already happened. She calls me uncreative, and I agree.
Part one: transience
Part two: bed rest
She's a magnificent companion, she loves all to herself. There was a moment in the night when i heard her confess a mystical complaint. She remembered how nobody steals anymore. "They're too old, and boring." She was dead with a bullet. She was a cleat with the knee. Fuck, she was saying the same bullshit from three years ago, and still meaning it. Shit.

I'd pull the blankets off of the bed, and shave the shears of thier follicles. I'd knight the peices should they filter through. I'd climb like a saru through the open brush and bring the shrouds to their motherfucking banana knees. Fuck that shit, yo.

I loved her though, like a sister, like a "I'll kill you in the hills this time", motherfucking bankrobber, biznatch. Party like a Y2K sista snapping bitch, yo.

shamen

aka: the smartest person i've ever known. well, he so she would say the same about me. i asked them a pretty sorry question and they answered it with glee. i don't care about all the words you know, or the manners in which you tape them to. you could be a savant if all i knew. The french meaning isn't nearly as impressive. Take me to your hole and smother me with tea. I'd love for you to embellish me, for you to braid me in yr sleeve. Catch an open window, i'm adult enough to know. She, he, we are open fellows, who cower in the snow. Big bear has snow now, it is officially winter, love. Be like a snail flower, be like a fox, be like a pretty gun whose shiny in the box. Pul-lease, don't forget me. Pul-lease don't you leave me. Pull the fucking trigger, i'm outta the box, so sneeze.

The Bog of Eternal Stench

So long as you dip one finger in the Bog of Eternal Stench and you'll smell forever. That's a life long lesson that ain't nobody can teach you. Only if you remember the dog and his knight who knew it was the only thing he knew, and that nothing smelled more beautiful on those hot, rancid days. We learned it as children, and relearn it now. Can't no one escape from where they came because when you leave the bog, nothing smells as sweet. It's not true and not sad, so don't reminisce, you bastard, just pillage. Shine yr anger down like the molten sword of yr chin on a shiny golden egg. Princes love beauty like kings love gold.

My Last $30

Fearing Time

I don't remember how to think about things.

It's Nothing Personal.....

We just like it better here. There isn't as much noise, and there isn't anybody audacious enough to speak frankly. Nobody to interrupt daydreams, well, not to your face. So psychodelia is the newest thing? Interesting. Let's play witty banter all night long, we're a good pair, us. Separate, i make less sense but together disgusts. Ain't there an answer? Nobody gets away, really.

Happiness is a Warm Gun

I woke up with this in my head, and it stayed there all day long. It's amazing what you can remember from age 16. Still though, it is not as amazing as how unbelievably clueless....end stop.

"She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix cause I'm going down
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun, momma
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun, momma
Happiness is a warm gun
-Yes it is.
Happiness is a warm, yes it is...
Gun!
Well don't ya know that happiness is a warm gun, momma?"

Fancy Ways to Say Never

I've always relied on observation as the tool to understanding the questions that you just can't ask. There are many reasons people don't ask. Mostly, they don't care. You didn't notice that i smirked? Well, you must not care. After mostly, there's social standards. You can't very well approach an acquaintance and say "What's with your desperate attempts for attention? Were you ignored by your father? Did the kids shun you at school? Do these people truly provide you with the gratification and validation that you so apparently seek?" And well, it goes the same with those people who are more than acquaintances. In the past, i've been more than confrontational with such intimate analysis, and it always goes unappreciated. Nobody really wants to think those questions, much less be expected of answering them. Nobody wants to hear them from someone like me. Well, few, if any.
I personally find myself eternally grateful for the harsh criticisms i impose upon my own immaturity. I bask in the constant critiques of my behavior, motivations, and inner demons, my playthings. You could call me egocentric, and you'd be right, yet i think about you just as often. On this night, i felt especially nervous, i couldn't think, i couldn't do anything but focus on my flipbook thought patterns. I'd think about someone, i'd feel paranoid, change the subject to another, feel even worse....and so on. I felt uneasy about my future plans, so unresolved, so up in the air and it drove me straight here, the lazy man's diary. Fine, lazy woman's.
I began by writing about the trouble closest to the surface, the power of observation. I have difficulty separating the actual entity of the observation from my own interpretation of how it relates to me. This is very misguiding, childish, almost criminal.
An example, the bus driver scowls at you after you thank him for actually stopping at the stop you pressed the button for. You become confused. Why is he scowling? Did he scowl at the previous departing passengers? Is it you? Did you press the button too close to the stop? Do you appear unfriendly? Are you weird looking? Is it him? Does he hate his job? Is his health suffering from sitting 40 hours a week? Is his wife a dirty whore? Or is his face in permanent scowling position? All these questions and more could be the one or collection of why i wasted time thinking about that moment of time and space. Now see, that does not matter, this is trivial, however it happens to me all the time. I can't get that trivial stuff out of my head.
Then to think of how this obsession with trivialilites affect my observations of the people closest to me? I'd almost call it torturous if it wasn't so ingrained into my being as if it were a necessity, an integral. Do you ever wonder how your judgments, the words and opinions that spew from your mouth affect the ones you love or love you? God, i almost felt like i was inhabited by Montell, much like Whoopi jumping into Sam. Yuck. I don't want to make out with Montell's wife. Well, maybe.
But anyway, i can't get this thing out of my mind. You said it so matter of factly, so condescendingly as if you meant it for me. I'm so ashamed (well, as much i can be when imposed by another, but i have strong walls for those things, so don't feel too bad. Okay? Well, you don't read this anyway, so it's okay.)
There was this one ridiculous day, the day i spent in watching movies with my sister in my parents living room. It made me cry, that goddamn Legally Blonde or what it the sequel? Whatever, i remember i wrote about it at the time, but all i can think of now is how i felt on that day i cried. God, i'm such a pussy, this girl "feeling" bullshit is really starting to piss me off. I hate it. Weakness is despicable.
I almost admitted what is really bothering me, but i know i don't need to because i always remember the backdrops to what spurs these nonsensical rants. All i'll say is that i am forever in debt to that thing that someone smart told me...."anger is just the cover for disappointment and hurt feelings". I mean that literally, i am truly in debt to that smart ass son of a bitch. Being in someone's debt is not a positive feature, i wish the English language would cut that shit out of our idiomatic usage. It's fucked up, for real.
The truth is, though, is that should you cut all the bullshit and confirm what my observations so strongly suggest, i'd never talk to you again. How dare you think that way, how dare you. I'm strong enough to do that, you know. And i know that you know that, which doesn't do anything for giving my doubts any serious validation.
The nerve.

Jeesh.

Two posts in a row about Nip/Tuck? Well, i don't have a functioning TV, and its good, ok? Ok. I'll do whatever i fell like...Gosh! Oh nevermind, fuck off.

Sideline

I was watching Nip/Tuck, a strangely interesting show. Those people's marriage seemed so fucking shitty. Yuck. They had this somewhat disturbing scene where they are having the most pathetic sex i've ever seen. It's actually in the pilot episode should you be interested in pathetic sex. As i think about how i can't get that hideous picture out of my mind, i began to think of how the only thing i look forward to doing in a marriage are the affairs. What is marriage anyway? Uh blah ahh.
Also, a word to guys and girls who are strong willed, adventurous, hard to please, needing excitement, love to love....don't fucking marry a pussy. You two match well now, but god, don't ever marry a pussy. Then again, that's just what i learned from Nip/Tuck. Don't bother listening to me.

The Yeck Stick

I wanted to write about that funny guy or my secret fantasy, but i just smelled the fresh scent of french bread. I haven't eaten today, and i'm hungry and bread and butter sounds heavenly. So does anything else who's scents will reach my nose.

I like that that whole minute series of comic genius in the Family guy movie. You know, when they are on the red carpet? Kool-aid guy, drunk Lois, trisha takanawa, oh my god classic. I'm in the library. They have Family Guy stickers on the computers. I'm not creative.
Ya, well neither are you, really.

At times, I am Forced

to think somewhat logically and write in that manner. Here's how I spent the last hour. Education is interesting, right?




It was interesting to read a somewhat dated article on the decline of cultural literacy in American schools because it seems to conflict with the concerns that educational policy-makers are writing about currently. Hirsch makes a good argument that students must have a somewhat uniform subject matter basis so that as adults they may communicate amongst society effectively by having common knowledge to base their conversations around. It is true, the ability to communicate both in oral and written form are necessary in order to get things done promptly and efficiently, to spread ideas and keep current with the newest advances. With the passage of this No Child Left Behind policy, schools are focusing less on teaching these pertinent common knowledge type things, and instead relying on exit exam test scores to act as determinants of a satisfactory literacy level.
Though I agree with Hirsch on these specific opinions, I found that he may be viewing his idea of the changes between 1950's American society and the 1988 society to be at a level of higher standards of which they actually were. Obviously, he is a very learned man who has such a vast knowledge in order to have made that list "What every literate American should know". But I think that his vast bank of "Trivial Pursuit" type knowledge clouds his realistic vision of what this country has always been about. I suspect that it may not be the intention of these policy makers to want the whole of our society to participate in real, thoughtful conversation. He refers to a theoretical main goal that high school graduates should be able to read the newspaper and not only understand the underlying story, but also all the references that have been alluded to while telling the story. I understand that he didn't write this article last month, and that if he read our newspapers today he'd probably be horribly dismayed by the lack of quality that he was warning, and slightly predicting about the future. I'd also like to see his face when he watched an episode of a reality TV show from the last Fox season.

I didn't read newspapers back in 88 because i was only 8 years old, however, from the history I've learned about this country, things have not changed that much. There has always been a certain level of ignorance that has been encouraged by educational policy makers in order to distract from more important issues. Sure, maybe a higher percentage of people in the 40's recognized a higher percentage of topics on his list, but they were still gathering Japanese-American citizens and segregating them from the population due to WW2. The point I am trying to make is that I think he missed the point, while Donald Gallo hit it right on.

Gallo's opinion is, that in English classes, reading the classics is not the only route to take in regards to encourage children's literacy. He argues that "the classics are not about Teenage concerns! they are about ADULT issues. Moreover, they were written for EDUCATED adults who had the LEISURE time to read them. They were also, not incidently, written to be ENJOYED-not DISSECTED, not ANALYZED, and certainly not TESTED. When I became an adult, I became interested in adult things...and I finally appreciated them (the classics). )78 I particularly enjoyed that he supplied his own list of more interesting and appropriate literature for children and young adults. I also appreciated that in his list, he named some of the books that i specifically remembered seeing in Ms. Mundelt's classroom library, namely Starchild and Monster. I picked these books up because of the facinating titles, and I read the summary suggesting that Monster is about a kid who experiences Juvey. Gallo points out that important lessons of societal affairs and social interactions can be just as effective in this more current, interesting literature.

Gallo wasn't suggesting that classics should be outright ignored in schools, and neither am I, however we should be realistic and take a clear look as to what our society is really like. A vast majority of people, both adults and children, don't really read the way they did in the 40s, but watch movies, TV etc. If we want to heighten literacy and the love of reading, as teachers, we need to compete with the excitement of Fear Factor, and the similar. It's sad, but we all know that it is true.

During my first field work session at Tennyson, I was in the 9th grade classroom and Ms. Munkelt was describing to me privately that on some days the kids just don't feel like reading, but all in all, they eventually make their way back to the book. One of the female students was listening in and she exclaimed, "You win some, You lose some, but you live...you live to fight another day." I smiled and recognized this quote from the 1994 classic, "Friday". Sure, this movie is not the most appropriate entertainment for 14 year olds, since it somewhat glorifies drug use, however, I was impressed. Her response was immediate, and I found the comment remarkably fitting to what we were discussing and the comparison to how it is used in the movie was clear. The reason I found this moment in the classroom relevant is because it goes to show that you don't necessarily need to quote Richard the III to make yourself be understood amongst intelligent society. An appropriate reference to sustain your point is enough in order to convey your point as long as other people have read the same books as you, watched the same movies, had the same school curriculum, and have the same memory capacity as you. Ideal, yes, realistic, no.

My Bad

I have strict orders from the wiser side of my brain. No wine during the week. And I fucked it all up. I didn't study watashinonihongo, I slept through an hour of my sculpture, i feel yucky, i'm embarrassed of the messages i leave, and i might have roofied myself, and i have a bottle less of wine for a good time. I wish i had one of those AA type people who you call up when you're sitting alone in yr living room, and everyone is too busy to talk to you and y're sick of being productive, and you just wanna put yrself down. Down on the Ground.
Also, i hate when i write whilst drinking. You should see my notebooks. They are ridiculously illegible scrawlings of self-directed rage mixed in with pleas of helplessness for an unknown savior. Next time, because i can't honestly claim that there will be no next time, I might suggest writing to Jesus (pronounced He-tsuz) because even though he disses me constantly, i like trying to impress God. I heard a funny God joke recently, but it's forgotten right now.
I have a job interview in an hour, and this activity seemed more appealing than benkiyoshimas-ing. I don't want to work. But i hate being poor. I wonder where that guy who stands by dwinnelle and never shuts up lives. Is he independently wealthy? Retired? Homeless? Why doesn't he have to work? What can i do to be more like him? God, i hate that guy. Even before I wondered about his life. I have a problem, though. In sculpture, i used Gorilla glue and it got all over my fingers. One of the teachers said that i should really avoid getting it on my hands, and i said, "ya, okay.........not..(very softly) So not only did i have a bunch of this glue on my fingers, but they became dirty from the sawdust and tool dirt. She was right, this glue cannot be removed. So now i look like a homeless mechanic, and i've got this interview. I've thought of 3 options. 1)Wear gloves. 2)Just ignore it 3) Explain the dirty hands. All three sound equally unappealing, but i think i may just wear gloves. I mean, maybe i can pull off the burn victim look. Maybe I should smear Vasoline on my face to distract from my hands.
I probably have about 10 more minutes to write. Should I or shouldn't i have a smoke before my interview. Probably no, huh?
Today in Sculpture, we had critiques of our first project and I've found my 2 favourite people. First, this guy made this nasty ass chocolate box filled with twinkies, unwrapped, melting 2 week old candy, etc. It's outside by the art building. It's alright, i guess, but there's this girl who kept eating the things out of there. She's in my class, she knew they've been there for 2 weeks. Someone commented that it's probably not a wise move to be eating those things. She responded by saying "just find me another melted twix". She's awesome. I like her. Her project was my favourite. I took a picture of it. It's this swirly plastic container with holes that stands on a pole above a pool of water. She placed Poprocks into the spinny and spun. The candies fall through the holes and land it the water. It sounded like rain. That's been bumped up to favorite sound since i was in Tennis class and we were all bouncing the balls at the same time. It echoed crazy, yo. I don't have time to describe my second favorite person. I have to put on my gameface now and that can take up to 5 minutes. Pardon.

What I learned on AOL Today

6)A man said this, and I quote "I have a weakness too, and it's always been the sight of an angelic brunette with legs that can melt butter (and at times that weakness spreads to Eastern European blondes with racks that would make Costco blush). Though said brunettes can cause my most primal urges to get the better of me, I can still keep it my pants. It's a habit that won't destroy me."

5)William Bennett has a "damn yr cock looks delicious" face.

4)Kobe Bryant has a "yr white, I'm black" face.

3)Harriet Mier has a dog face. (Shitszu or maybe Australian shepherd)

2)Tom Delay has a "is that pate?" face.

1) Chewbacca is a Lefty.

Story Hours

One day, I'll explain everything to you, with many minute details. My motive? Boredom. My venue, vino. Wine is very intimate, they say. I'm a very lonely girl who doesn't understand the power of prison, so, in that case, I will buy 5 cases of Chuck Shaw and shower you with lavish attention and keep your crackers flowing with apples on brie. They say kings dined on Brie, you know.
I've built a very large, felt storyboard on my West side wall and i've made cut-outs of every last character. Even Jenny from Osborne street. She jumped over the wall and swam in our pool while my parents were at work, and us, at school. I thought that the reason she had this kind of free time, was because she was ReeRee*. I thought ReeRees didn't have to go to school. Somehow, in my next 18 years of life, I learned that ReeRees do have to go to school. But she lived with her disabled grandparents, and everyone knows that the disabled don't care about shit, especially grandchildren. Even Jenny from Osborne Street. You know, that story we listened to on tape in Isaac and Aaron's backyard, the one that ends in "And Jenny's head, Fell, Off!!!"? Well, I've got the instrumental tracks on CD. They'll be on in the background. You see? For you, anything.
I've designed a whole new line of fashion for your Feltie. I'll sign over the rights to you once i'm finished. It's the least I can do, after all the inspiration you've put on my plate these last few years. You should see Mom's Feltie. She's got all the newest, ghetto fabulousest accessories. I've even made a black-and-white flashback sequence of Felties that will explain all the mysteries of the seventies. I haven't forgotten the pages of nights we spent hovering over Studio 54 flyers.
All in all, I'd have to admit that Trader Joes isn't always the best place to buy cheap wine, but you could never be as entertained and drunken on anything else. I almost forgot about the cost, and considered buying cases of Champ, but the bubbles are harsh on the memory. I learned that the weekend before last. And the prior as well. You want to know what i did? No, you really don't. And, I don't blame either of us. One of the reasons that Champagne is the Champ is because Traci Ikegami says it is, and she's never been wrong. About champagne? Never.
I rented Twins and Ghostbusters. For some reason, Captain Video does not keep 3 Men and a Little Lady in stock. I did make a quick stop in the adult section where I thought about renting the Boyscout Gaysians, but then I decided that porn doesn't sit well with Felt. It never really did, did it? My DVD player tends to skip since I spilled it with that Kangaroo Merlot I like, so please bring yours. I won't be serving Yellowtail on that night, so you needn't worry about my clumsiness. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but it's going to be on October 29th. It's a Saturday. So keep that weekend open. The invitation will be in your mailbox soon, so don't worry about remembering. Keep well, Walgreen.

*ReeRee-Retard

The Snake Charmer

The smoke who rises from your glass is trickery. The inno- of the hana
closed my throat hole shut.
I'd explain, but my breath is caught
I may deny but my scents has stopped
Good sense, bad sense, make sense, i cannot
Please let us not
Picky, piney, prosy pony
Yes, please, let's not.
My atmosphere is everywhere, except the little hole where the smoke will always go.
This place is still the darkest room, but my arms are never lost
Just polite, that's right, in spite
After all, are they not mine?
No, they are not.
Only snakes in charm, in time
All the consequence of chime
Poets warn the haze of blaze, and legend keeps the heedence tame
And there's a light behind the cave of the largest, darkest room.
You have no idea, You have no idea, you have no idea,
no idea, idea
Of everything you and Ikea
Have made of the Snake.
Kill Bill.