01.Sep.2001

I should archive my older entries

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Happy Birthday Doug McCarthy

Because you are one sexy motherfucker. For you, I will repeat Recoil's "Stalker: Punished Mix" and Nitzer Ebb's "Living Out of a Bag" for the day's duration.

I probably won't. I will probably give his birthday five more seconds of recognition and then move onto something blatantly off-topic.

It's September. I can't remember which month was my favourite, September or November. November. That's it.

November of 1995 was a magical time for me. It was the most tedious, but somehow oddly magical. I recall boys coming in from Autumn football practice, their cheeks all ruddy and flushed, chests ablaze for air, me boiling water on the stove for dinner. Boiling. Of course, it happened in my head, because I've led a predominantly insular existence so far. I used to be ruled by fantasy; I bleared the edges, the line right before fantasy became reality, so harmless, but I was at my most dangerous. I call it the "Raven Went Momentarily Insane for Three Fantasy-Filled, Drippingly Luscious Years" period. I've lost touch with that side. I'm not so much more pragmatic as I am boring.

My new anthem is Curve's "Hung Up", which appears on their album Gift, due out on my father's birthday, 18th.Sep.2001. It is soft and sensual and makes me want to find an arty, broody boy named Christian to masticate sexually.

It makes me want to light up a cigarette, then have sex, then light up another cigarette.

Instead, I'll suck religiously on Life Savers Wild Cherry hard candies, pop a few pieces of Extra Winterfresh gum, then brush my teeth obsessively, applying new amounts of lip-gloss each time I do so.

I am kissable.

For no one.

Happy September.

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time & machine