What was with last night? The nose ran, still. In bed already, draped in a set of very male pajamas (a hole where my dick was supposed to emerge from), and Fawn phoned past eleven, my bedside phone ringing and ringing and me on the veranda. I phoned back. After washing the white paint from his body, came to pick me up in his boss's car. I kept my feet on the dash, since THA BOSS has a most ingenious garbage problem. Managed to find some beer once I started to dig around, though and we just sat in the parked car for a good while, me drinking and Fawn being drunk from before. Popping my Vitamin C. Then we went to bed. His place. I need to make a happy little song for this cold-- something akin to the nutty brownie, fudge-stained melody. I slept the whole night through on the wallside, doubleshort americano in the morning at Fantastico. My tasks measured by orange juice, or sources of and much pulp, with the fiction seeping back in. I'll go back inside after the cup has the dregs, when I can tilt it upsidedown and---no flow.
Geriatric at the bus stop today. So he'd drool at inadvertent times, like while stooping to ask the fat, farting lady on the metal bench beside me whether or not his bus had already gone by, or while reading (i.e.: focusing his eyes on, SORT OF**) a label for potting soil, which has a round enough ring to it to actually bring cuteness to the situation. But, I mean: cascading globs all down the collar of his jacket. Rad. I swear to god I'm not as pretentious as this stupid blog makes me seem. Whore's honour
I really have nothing else to say-(sorry I'm still kind of sick and very useless, as par usual) other than: THE NATURAL LOW SHOW. Lots and lots of ART. From everywhere. Go to closing night this coming Wednesday (the 18th), to see Fawn play. 1810 Store Street, if I'm not mistaken. Bellow the Value Village. Oh yes, and I am incredibly happy with my current outfit.
**This entry brought to you by the general sentiments in Yeat's Sailing to Byzantium
you are at my house and i CAN'T LIVE without your blog.
seriously i'm dying. STOP THE MADNESS STOPSTOP SOTPPTTPOPEOrfjdgkoieuwsghpsdoifgjh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO you're killing me
I love you, you raise my hell.
Posted by: caroline at May 19, 2005 2:53 AM