Kate Bush!
- I wrote the lyrics of this song with a green Sharpie on the wall of a bathroom at a Brooklyn bar (it's a unisex bathroom), try to find it!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Warum nicht riefen Sie mich an? Ich wollte mit Ihnen sprechen!
Days have passed and now they are sanctifying my existence as the makings of a true Americanan.
Mexico is curled up next to me, eyes half-open, in a blissful state of melancholy.
Last week a gay man (I mean, straight man) that looked like Brian Botano - the figure skater, hit on me at work.
I agree with Snig Wigs - ABBA girl fashion is an inspiration.
Bookshelf love:
Two too many at wit's end. Death on the installment plan of grammatology. To have and to have not middlesex on leaves of grass. A child's garden of verse is fathers and sons on the red pony. Call me brick, washington square. How it is the sweetest dream. The golden notebook is like death in the afternoon for whom the bell tolls. Anna Kerenina is the paradiso dante. The little prince is writing about art for the wonderful story of henry sugar. A lover's discourse on language becomes gender diversity underneath gravity's rainbow. Virgin suicides play the piano drunk like a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit with Guignol's band. Tender buttons' love poems with an introduction by Anna Quindlen. Intimacy out of sheer rage begets the history of sexuality. Moments of being the odd women of Richard III's survival in Auschwitz.
Mexico is curled up next to me, eyes half-open, in a blissful state of melancholy.
Last week a gay man (I mean, straight man) that looked like Brian Botano - the figure skater, hit on me at work.
I agree with Snig Wigs - ABBA girl fashion is an inspiration.
Bookshelf love:
Two too many at wit's end. Death on the installment plan of grammatology. To have and to have not middlesex on leaves of grass. A child's garden of verse is fathers and sons on the red pony. Call me brick, washington square. How it is the sweetest dream. The golden notebook is like death in the afternoon for whom the bell tolls. Anna Kerenina is the paradiso dante. The little prince is writing about art for the wonderful story of henry sugar. A lover's discourse on language becomes gender diversity underneath gravity's rainbow. Virgin suicides play the piano drunk like a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit with Guignol's band. Tender buttons' love poems with an introduction by Anna Quindlen. Intimacy out of sheer rage begets the history of sexuality. Moments of being the odd women of Richard III's survival in Auschwitz.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
What about all those stupid kids rolling around on their sneaker/rollerskate shoe things?
The TV just said, "...And we'll meet the kid whose Playstation blew up in his pants. Next on Fox News 5."
Monday, February 4, 2008
Keeping up with the tides of my labors...
Oh I wish I had better self control!
M and I put our minds together last night while listening to Tomahawk's "Ghost Dance" and decided that we are going to kidnap B and take him with us to a remote park somewhere near the ocean and do our own "project" involving tribal dances, a drum, a gong, peyote, lindsay lohan, feathers in our hairs, and ponchos of various Aztec-y designs. We are going soon. No one else may come. It will however be well documented for all you curious readers of this wonderful blog (which by the way, I wanted its url to be doppelbanger.blogspot.com but someone already took it and it is super lame and he doesn't even use it anymore. What a waste of a brilliant name that infuses both of my passions - doppelgangers and banging.)
I am influenced by Phoebe Cates' character in Fast Times for the feather in the hair thing. I am going to ride my bike to Queens very soon to Michael's to get the supplies necessary.
This weekend I played my flute at a show! I don't have any pictures to prove it, but I do have an after-image that proves I had my flute with me while I was out - drunk fluting on the F train underneath the East River.
Thanks Tom's iphone.
M and I put our minds together last night while listening to Tomahawk's "Ghost Dance" and decided that we are going to kidnap B and take him with us to a remote park somewhere near the ocean and do our own "project" involving tribal dances, a drum, a gong, peyote, lindsay lohan, feathers in our hairs, and ponchos of various Aztec-y designs. We are going soon. No one else may come. It will however be well documented for all you curious readers of this wonderful blog (which by the way, I wanted its url to be doppelbanger.blogspot.com but someone already took it and it is super lame and he doesn't even use it anymore. What a waste of a brilliant name that infuses both of my passions - doppelgangers and banging.)
I am influenced by Phoebe Cates' character in Fast Times for the feather in the hair thing. I am going to ride my bike to Queens very soon to Michael's to get the supplies necessary.
This weekend I played my flute at a show! I don't have any pictures to prove it, but I do have an after-image that proves I had my flute with me while I was out - drunk fluting on the F train underneath the East River.
Thanks Tom's iphone.
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