Last night, in an effort to combat my pre-menstrual syndromes and somewhat stabilize my hormones which had plummeted me into under-the-covers-at-nine-PM depression, I drank a litre of soy and ate various soy products, along with my usual crystallized ginger and went to the gay bar in an obscenely bloated state, with Matt. We made a pact to be ludicrously excessive with our usual high fives that night, and we were, even after Matthew nearly took my eye out with his hand. We altered our method of high fives after I lost my contact: NOTHING ABOVE THE WAIST. Conclusion: safer, all told, and just as enthusiastic. Before the bar, right after we smoked our first joint, a guy was crossing Douglas and he said, “BLOOD ON MY DICK OR BLOOD ON MY KNIFE. YOU DECIDE.” At which point, I turned to Matt and made a face I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replicate. Ever again. In case you were wondering about the cryptic contents of the previous entry.
Anyway, Matt is a doll, my brother, my brother’s doll, and altogether a brilliant formation.
Moreover, I am thinking, incredibly difficult to synthesize into fictional form. Though not impossible. I have An Idea. A pretty little idea. Here comes the prose. Over and under layers of vocals and sound. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥!