hors d'œuvre

hookers and blow and havana cigars.

they're leaving for their lovely trip tomorrow. so they'll be playing poolside poker, smoking havana cigars, and having drunken group sex in hot tubs. they'll do blow off hookers in porcelain bathrooms, after al fresco formal dinners where everyone is wearing dior and chanel. they'll pick up models and actors in the lines for roller coasters, and then party in exclusive clubs. then they'll drunkenly watch the sunrise before passing out naked on the beach.

except, oh wait. it won't be like that at all.

my trip wasn't like that either.
i recall my trip beginning at midnight, transporting illegal immigrants across state lines at 150 kph in the fog after the gunfight broke out at the club. i went to three parties on new years, went to a random hxc show, and slept a lot.

oh, and here are some photographs from the actual disney part of that trip






i'm going to asia this summer though.
then i'll only have two continents left to see.
(minus antarctica. i have no intention of going there.
and honestly, i want to go on my "summer-before-i-go-to-college backpacking tour of scandinavia", before i go to either africa or s. america.
i'm gonna sit in fields with reindeer and play the cello.)

speaking of super geniuses...

...i have this recurring dream where i'm photographing that math prodigy kid who sits in front of me, and he's naked with the quadratic formula written all over his body in sharpie. i would sooooo really take those photos except that he's fourteen. awkward!

x equals the opposite of b plus or minus the square root of the quantity b squared minus four a times c all divided by 2 a

also speaking of super geniuses, i got my sat scores today.

And He Bathed In Her Lacquer

Let's play!
Roller Roller!
"Interesting, I've never seen a story where they don't all die at the end."
"Does this mean it goes on? They have a future beyond the end?"
"Death is a period, a conclusion. It's closure. But this..."
"There is no 'happily ever after.' That's not an end."
"When they all die there's no hope of continuation, right? No terrible sequels."
"Truth in that. Yes, truth in that indeed. But my characters are going to start living."
Away with illusions I say, it's too late at this point. Why hold on to something that was never there? Right??
Roller Roller!
Her voice rose in the sky and there was a CRASH and she exploded into a hundred shes and they came CRASHing all around, all yelling echos.

Here I am looking saddly uninterested. They did, however, give me $50 for being a SUPER GENIUS! Oh how terrible this is... yes how terrible this is... this is.

the justin effect.

the distribution of 219 youtube comments in relation to justin.



justin is hot. QED

when the smaller picture's the same as the bigger picture, you know that you're fucked.

i feel like i was looking so hard for the bigger picture-- but only in one corner of the smaller picture. which makes no sense.

today was my ciocia marie's funeral.

my grandmother was there, i haven't seen her since i was probably 12 or 13. my grandfather's death, and her ridiculous behaviour has a lot to do with why i am the way i am, i guess. when all of that happened, i went from being the kid i am in the pictures on the refrigerator, to being very gothic and suicidal. i'm not very much like that anymore, but i still feel like my life has a lot of disturbingly dark aspects that i don't really ever talk about.

but i got to see my cousins.

when ree lived in tennessee for a short time as a child, she moved there from pennsylvania. in pennsylvania, there was no segregation on buses, but in tennessee of course, prior to the civil rights movement, there was. now in pennsylvania, little five-year-old ree loved to sit in the back of the bus. but in tennessee, that was where the black people sat. of course, she didn't know that, and when they tried to get her to move, she wouldn't move to the front of the bus.
it was the reverse rosa parks.
she and her mother had to go to jail.

then her and her mother (my ciocia marie) were going to go live in north africa, where her father was stationed, so they packed up all of their belongings and had them shipped there. but war broke out just as they were to move, and the plane with all of their possessions was shot out of the sky.
needless to say, they never ended up in africa.

somehow, they ended up in new york, living with zippy, an ex-space-monkey who drank beer every night, and going to rockaway beach in the height of it's popularity with john glenn, the astronaut.

the rockaway beach apartment is still there, even though marie is dead, so i was going to try to get some people together and go to new york for the weekend, and stay in the apartment.

but they're all going to be on the trip to florida, which i can't afford, because i'm paying for my ticket to asia this summer. sigh.

this post is so long, but a lot happened.

it was like a novel, massively huge confrontations, all while i'm looking exceptionally striking at 6'2" in heels, wearing a black mini-dress by jonathan saunders. fabulous.

but i feel so much better. i was getting really down on myself, but i've just been caught in the smaller picture. i'm starting to see the bigger picture again.

i wrote this all in the bathtub.

Monkey Island

This is the place I used to explore as a child.
It means more to me than anywhere else.
This is where I got my collection of lost baseballs.
This is where I made a bridge over the river.
This is where I fell through the ice.
This is where I found my frontier spirit.


It has gotten a lot nicer since I've been there last.
Less baby skeletons.