PFH2BIMBRFN!
1/24/10
1/23/10
Having just finished a Double Del Bacon Cheeseburger from directly down the street, I sat in front of my childhood home while the occasional speedster dragged up Del Mar Blvd and, unbeknowst to myself, hatched a plan while thumb typing a blog post. This plan included becoming more of a person who returns things that they borrow or are somehow loaned in some small way.
In other words, while my stomach broke down some junk, my soul decided to shift gears and become one that is more considerate. Nothing is really ever given, anyway. We are all borrowing things- sugar, pens, time. At some point we have to give all of it back.
1/18/10
"Homer, when a man's biggest dreams include seconds on dessert, occasional snuggling, and sleeping 'til noon on weekends, no one man can destroy them." -Marjorie Simpson
1/13/10
She calls me and tells me of the curious things happening in her life. I know that she works at a gentlemen's club in a nearby city and she has one of my paintings. She is visiting a boyfriend who just got taken in for something, a felony of some sort, and since the jail is by my house she wants to stop by. She sounds older, more confident than the last time I talked with her, which was not long ago. She tells me of getting rohypnoled on new year's eve in Vegas, about how she's lost about twenty pounds, and that she is going to come over and return my painting soon. I don't quite know what to make of all of it except that the craziness in my chest does not stop, even after she's hung up the phone.
Finally, after dreams of sucking dick and and getting unsolicited gay lapdances, a good one: it's Cleveland (or some town in the middle of LA and NYC). The history teacher is a lawyer. Having some beers at his house, which seems quaint and cluttered and fully stocked with jumbo bottles of liquor and beer in the fridge (feeling safe and at home here) when suddenly I notice something in my bottle. Rohypnol, it sticks at the bottom of the beer looking like a lost Mitsubishi. In the dream I recall feeling hazy, unable to control my thoughts, so I excuse myself to the bathroom, fearing the worst.
As I attempt to regain control, I walk out to the untidy livingroom, only to find it inhabited by two of my best friends from college. This is strange, and I want to leave. When I do, I find that the house is floating in midspace and the next-door neighbors (a single mom with sisters and about six noisy kids of her own) are complaining about us making too much noise. What nerve.
So I go back to the cluttered home, which has also transformed now into a mansion-like place. More friends are there and are arriving, even some b-list 90s child actors all grown up, most notably the beautiful redhead from my old job, who resembles a period-piece sitcom siren. One of my best friends, a guitar player, starts tuning a wii and plays a song for her. And although they have never met except in this dream, the melody and words are somehow familiar to me, they comfort and amuse me.
1/12/10
Annie Clark
reposted from fuckyeahstvincent.
I like St. Vincent. haven't heard too many songs from the new album, Actor. I think Marry Me has a lot of awesomeness in it, though. Here's a pic of the singer-songwriter of St. Vincent, Annie Clark.
1/10/10
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