13.Feb.2004

incomplete

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transcripts like movie stills

So process this.

The absinthe order has been placed. Awaiting confirmation e-mail amongst the deluge of Viagra Bestiality Bukkake spams. To reiterate, it just seems appropriate Oklahoma City's prose inamorata imbibes absinthe. I keep the sugarcubes to my left, sweet and sultry pink-lipsticked Bjork notwithstanding, and the ice water to my right.

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I'm giving myself five minutes for this diary entry. At the end of five minutes, I will cease typing and update as is.

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So mayhap it's a wayward inspiration from you, my lover-cum-acquaintance. I'm delving into a nonsequitur realm, detached from how beautiful things could have been if we hadn't have been such inexperienced scaremongerers, before the scenes began to melt and you carried my silver lip-smears all over your bright orange sleeves. We were the flamboyance of a decade worn away on the edges of cynical romance.

And thus it dissolves, and we backspace over our puerile endeavors.

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Unrest. Memory. I'm not nineteen, anymore, but they are. It's increasingly difficult to convey emotion to arrogant face-splitters. Thus I release, and this ginger lull of my reclusive mannerism warms me beyond the bri

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time & machine