07.Feb.2003

Bjork, my soul is yours.

--

ver an di

I am ultimately drunk on Bjork's Verandi and segueing my cells without question straight to The Black Heart Procession's Waterfront. From this, Interpol's Hands Away will rise above these sultry D-minor chords. I am parting the air-molecules with my frenetic heart-beats and wildly swinging arms. I simply wouldn't be without music.

Kitten, these songs are going on the newest of your new mix CDs. It is your duty to stay away from these until you open your mail from Oklahoma City. Despite the US Postal Service evidently loathing all things shipped to Canada, this, dammit, will reach you. I lovingly entitle all my mix CDs as Music Sex Volume ____ for a reason.

Jubal, your frequent online absences sadden me. Remind me to alter your website when you return from hiding, and I have songs to share with you.

Danny, you have unwittingly entered a race for my textual heart, and you are winning.

Matt, my grandfather beheld moments of belligerent lusters, but everyone in this family does.

--

The sky broke from orange to gray as transient snow languidly fluttered over my city, melting into the strands of my newly-dyed black hair, with red-tainted lips transcending the pallor of my countenance. Winter encapsulates me with warmth. I am decidedly, unforgivingly happy.

--

Jay left a message on my voicemail from another's domain, expressing that he's "positively leaving" the vicinity. I have pre-ordered the celebratory wine for this fantastic event. I will see him off in a whirl of drunken elation. Good riddance, you pathetic excuse for a bipedal, pecker-snotted human being. May you burn luxuriously in Hell for every annihilative dream you ever harbored. May you, the King of Insects, take your squalid devout with you.

--

Oh, yes. The bitch is finally, unspeakably overjoyed.

"Finally, the revolution came. All their magic kingdoms are burning."

--

time & machine