10.Mar.2001

yesterday.

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yesterday

Yesterday, Kristina was blown away by the utter American that is Duck.
She was listening to his radio show and exclaimed to me in what sounds like exotic Scot:
"Shit!"
"Fuck!"
"Ack!"
"SOOO American!"

It made me giggle; we both nearly broke out of our skin when Duck pulled out Recoil's 'Bloodline', and I told Kris the last 3 minutes of that song should be looped, and all I wanted was to be pounded through it.

Yesterday, I called Duck and demanded he play 'Sex Dwarf'. He did. We bonded over Bicardi talk, while I bummed about running low on cigarettes.

Yesterday, I came out of my skin.

Yesterday, I promised myself I wouldn't get dramatic over chocolate cake.
I lied.

Yesterday, I had heartburn again.

Yesterday my heart-beats per minute broke their record and reached about 167, at sitting activity.

Yesterday, I remembered I didn't own a website domain.

Yesterday, I blabbed and blabbed into my diary.

Yesterday, Duck told me it could become a conduit for becoming famous.

Yesterday, I really wanted to be famous.

Yesterday, I was actually kind of famous.

It was infamous.

I dreamed about Poppy again, and the only thing I find myself saying to him is: 'Are you alright? Are you 80? You're going to die. You're going to die.'
And he just raises and eyebrow and keeps driving the car. I reach over to touch him and it's real, and it feels like him, and it's absolutely devestating.

I really should stop living in the past.

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time & machine