01.Aug.2001
Welcome to August
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The First August, 2001
I've been obsessed with watching reruns of 'Beverly Hills: 90210' on the FX channel lately, and I'm not sure why. I used to love the show as a young young very young thing. Two episodes of vintage 'Hills' right next to the X-Files, what more could a girl want?
Tiffany-Amber Thiessen off the show, for one. Yes, it's reaching that moment, that when she came to town, the entire series fell apart. Sorry, Tiff, but you trying to play a bad girl from Melrose Place is not up to my bad-girl standards. She rolled a joint and made a long-distance call. The shock and horror of this to me is unsettling. As in unsettlingly banal. Don't you have cheerleading practice, Kelly?
The hottest thing off that show has got to be Jason Priestly. Everything else just pales in comparison. I'm not even a JP type of femme, either, but apparently, those that which never aroused my senses are coming in with force.
My world isn't necessarily beautiful so much as it is edgy. The walls begin to tighten over here, sometimes. My simple being is inflicted with some kind of antsy disease. July didn't involve so much alcohol as June did, so perhaps August will make up for this. I remember when Joe called me an alcoholic. Little does he know.
In other news, I'm breaking out something fierce, like a 13-year-old who just rubbed pizza grease all over their face. I imagine the intense beauty of this makes boys tremble in erotic fear. I am speaking flatly. In fact, I'm not speaking at all.
There are 3 candidates for the "Find Raven a Boy Project 2001"; I think all I wanted was a Summer fling, and I was presented with such opportunity from a military brat who ended up more crack-addled than I previously imagined. I haven't spoken to him in well over a week. Oh well. I really only liked his van, anyway.
And his eyes. And his hat. And his hands. And his nervous legs. And his voice. And his youth. And the fact he came over 18 times in a three-week period, and when he spoke, the cigarette smoke drifted off his lips with lazy aplomb.
I lack things like heavy kissing in my life, and that void is greatly suffered. I remedy this with lesbian porn and old school Depeche Mode albums.
Eyes on your eyes, lips on your lips, fold me fast where the cincture slips. And slips. And slips. And slips.
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time & machine