whatiwas

I had a gloriously brief conversation with April today on Instant Messenger which consisted of me wishing her a happy belated birthday (hers was three days ago), she asking who the hell I was (I was using a screen name she didn't know) and me identifying myself.

Her response: "oh, it's you," and immediately signing off.

I'm still struggling with why I don't feel especially...
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the artist is the worst kind of god, all the power and none of the skills, the most-missed of which being humility which, let's face it, we all could use a bit more of--the learners included and perhaps most of all. the artist creates by design, watching over creation like it knows it can, running away to see what everyone else dreams because it, too,...
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I just uploaded a picture that makes me laugh. The pic is a couple weeks old, but it's me loking like shit, which is always fun. Like the caption says, I did nothing to tweak this picture; this is just me, natural lighting, underslept and underfed, tired and sad, horny and lonely, looking like absolute pale shit.

And you're gonn have to go to the...
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Forty dollars in extra county taxes. And the Feds undoubtedly going to take my federal return.

Multnomah county can suck my dick right now, long and hard.

Quicktime sucks.

someone told me tonight that my personality was beautiful.

i almost laughed.

The cycle leaves me here again, destroying myself even slower than my colleagues who partake of substances, staying up longer than I ought to, doing things I ought not to and throwing myself into ridiculous encounters that don't mean a fucking thing in the end.

I am staying home tonight with every intention of getting some much-needed writing done. I was going to have Foreign...
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Her top was little more than a gentle, unobtrusive fabric that flowed effortlessly over my hands as they slid beneath it to touch the skin of her back. I tried not to focus on the fabric, because the touch of her skin--god, if you understand nothing else of this, please recognize this--the touch of her skin to my hands made the present acceptable.

I mention...
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don't accept any fakes: Outside is Bowie's best album ever.

(masculine hegemony's ultimate failure is a sexually-unfulfilled woman)
"Good as I imagined," she said with something resembling satisfaction, but not really, I'd have called it something closer to relief if I'd had the capacity for language at the moment.

We were sitting in the front seat of her Acura as it idled on the street, eighteenth, just a block north of West Burnside. The furtive...
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