20.Mar.2001

fairytales of slavery

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howlonghaveyou

I have decided that when I become famous, I am going to announce to the world my avid love of Jennifer Connelly.

It will be nothing new.

My dreams are lurid and pliable.

I somehow managed to dream about Jubal and his girlfriend, named Swan. Jubal doesn't have a girlfriend, nor one named Swan. I kept trying to impart to him how much I loved him a la 'my best friend's wedding'.

My philosophy on relationships is askewed.

It is called the match, lighter, zippo theory. It is pretty self-explanatory.

The matches light and extinguish themselves quickly.
Disposable lighter relationships last for a while, but do not result in marriage.
Zippos, of course, are permanent.

I do not own a zippo.

My flings are never what they should be.

They are like violent silhouettes of what they should be, this careening, softly intense rendition of normality, a kiss delivered from the crown of the head down the rigid length of their bodies. Pure and terrible seduction.

The vibes I receive from others are confused with what I want to receive from others, therefore the illusory world deceives.

I used to be romantic.

A part of that is stifled in my gothic heart.

I am going to write Jubal and tell him about this dream, and then warn him of women named Swan.

I hate being a mother.

My patience wears thin on the perpetual dog/cat war. I no longer have headphones because Soy chewed through them, so when I listen to music, it is always disrupted by their fighting. That velar 'mrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeooooo' of Kitty, that piercing 'brrrrrrrrrrrk' of Soy. I want to kill them both.

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time & machine