Tuesday, September 27, 2005

clearly size matters

I got a new phallus yesterday. It smells nice, and it made all the boys jealous. It also takes lovely pictures.

Someday, I hope to use it to penetrate the people and places of Toronto.



Wednesday, September 21, 2005

I wish I had a cat so I could name it John Grisham

Time for another down-low on the what's up. That's a bit of a redundancy isn't it? Maybe it isn't. At any rate, now with school going again, my brain has officially left the building so my posts might come more frequently, but less intellig(ent)ibly. Wait, who am I kidding. Nothing much is going to change around here.

I have been have quite the time lately. What with creationist madness (my own breed, not the kind that gets people riled up). Throwing people in holes, dressing men up in snorkel gear, learning how to use a Super 8, and other general mayhem has been the flavour of the month. More on that later. Between starting a new school year, sewing a jacket, knitting like a banshee, and learning to quilt, I've decided that cloning is the solution to all my problems. Or at least the problem at the moment, which is that I'm simply one person, and one way or another, I have to conform to a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week schedule. Plus I would get to be the boss. Until they figured out they were all me, and then it would be anarchy.


ladybug sunset

And nevermind the title silliness sweet studious savourinos -- I don't even like John Grisham (particularly)

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

regretfully philosophizing again

I dreamt about a rabid dog. It died, only to have it's body dissolved and turned into bizzaro Jabba. It told me that absolute truth exists. It said that God, and heaven, and hell, all exist as well. I argued with it: what about reincarnation? what about the Karmic cycle? All tripe, it said. I put up quite a fight, but in the end, I left in a fit; beaten and tearfull.

Is it possible that I have unresolved issues with Christianity, or religious fanatics?

lift off

N.B. Dear K- You gave me a book to draw naked women in - and write about ideas - I fear it is becoming, not a book of ideas, but rather one of questions - and no pussy.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Dirty Nails

She showed up on my doorstep with dirt under her fingernails and flowers in her arms, eyes aglow. I loved her wild exuberance, her voluptuous laughter; her fierce vulnerability. She played hide-and-seek with my heart, always getting lost. One day I forgot her name. In return, she violated my mind. Or maybe that was me. I can't remember now. My last memory of sound is the cold, empty dial tone.

In fall, I remember that I miss her.