27.Mar.2001

stop laughing

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fate, up against your will

Joe was awake for three hours before he decided to fall back to dream:world; my restlessness disease somehow managed to enter his body. He shouldn't kiss me when I'm coming down with the restless influenza. I told him last night of my ephemeral lay-out obnoxiousness, and he rolled his narrowed hazel slits at me.

"Will you ever just fucking decide on a website lay-out and stick with it?" he demanded.

"Those issues are covered on page 4,502 of my user's manual, darling." I opined.

He bends down from his astonishingly beefy height of 6-foot-5 and kisses my indie-chick head.

"I love my high-maintenance pain-in-the-ass girl."

My new short hair makes me look like an anim� character, and I haven't decided how I feel about that. I'd probably be the goofy, purple-haired yutz-bitch who talked way too fast and had exploding hearts above her head every five minutes going 'oooh!'
That thought almost terrifies me.


I am upset it is no longer dark; it seems the greatest ideas paint themselves into my cells when all is dark, and all is quiet. There's something thaumaturgic and magical about a darkening creativity few witness.

That sentence sucks.

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time & machine