| 5:54 am |
Intercontinental!
I leave for France in a matter of hours.
Rock. The. Fuck. On.
I cannot wait to get there.
Updates will be sporadic, but may well exist. Keep an ear to the ground, little injuns.
*blam!*
Current Mood: wtf who r u???
Current Music: Bay City Rollers, "Saturday Night" |
| 9:08 am |
It lives
Yes, yes it does.
Six pounds of phlegm in my lungs, natty fucking hair that hasn't been washed in nine days and is started to feel dreadtastic, and 1000mg tickets on the Biaxin XL Express, leaving twice daily.
Can you fucking dig it?
So, yeah, I wiped the old journal. No grand statement, no explanation- just felt like it was time. Words are ephemera, and maybe that's what made it art.
Or maybe bountiful uses of the word "vagina."
So, yeah.
Pending update frequency?
Fucked if I know.
Recap?
Sure, don't mind if I do.
Still in love with she who is tiny and has purple hair. For those who aren't in the know, she speaks 5 languages, has dark purple hair, is a photographer in the "puts on exhibits" sense as opposed to the "sure, I'll photograph the bar mitzvah" sense, bears a striking resemblance to a young (19 year old) version of The Baroness from the GI Joe cartoon, is five feet and maybe one inch tall, weighs maybe ninety two to ninety three pounds- and yet, still manages to have breasts and be healthy- and is one of those rare people who are just is just as beautiful naked as she is fully clothed- which is very, very beautiful.
She's also the only person I've ever met who makes me feel genuinely and completely loved, and not just part of some agenda for fucking.
So, yeah.
In other knews, I'm still bouncing in the hellhole of nude adult entertainment industry. "Yay."
Quit selling porn, at least.
And, I'm supposed to quit smoking. So sayeth the halfpint Hindu who bitched at me for the current condition of my virally virile lungs.
Yeah. I see that happening.
Peace out, fuckers.
Current Mood: cranky
Current Music: The Damned, "Neat Neat Neat" |