Sunday, January 15, 2006

A show of hands, who wants to die?
Current mood: aggravated

I lied. I said I wasn't going to do this again.

It's not that I woke up this early, it's that I never went to sleep... well, except for what I suspect to have been about ten minutes. I just woke. I dreamt of a beautiful girl I haven't seen in quite a while. As usual, she was a complete mess, but this time when she showed up to the wide open door of the flat I don't own, on the top floor of a Hollywood tower that does not exist, her lifestyle was wearing through her beauty. For once she looked worn, old beyond her years.
She attacked me in the mirror as I fought to do my make up. She rolled off of the bed and thudded on the floor with a sloppy giggle. I told her she needed to tighten in up, that it wasn't so becoming any longer. It was truly never becoming of her at all. Offended, she left.
I followed her to the garage below and after almost running over three security guards in a golf cart and flipping them off before squealing off in her pilly, alcoholic haze, I pleaded to them "Lo siento. Lo siento. Es Loca, Es barracha."

I'm nauseous. I don't know if it's from the dream or the excessive amount of vegan pizza I ate a mere 8 hours ago in honor of RJ's new age. Maybe it's both.

Fuck this insomnia. I certainly won't be able to join the crew in a few hours for the vegan french toast and later in the gym, I imagine I'll be as useful as would be the pilly girls of my dreams. Speaking of dream girls, I was told that one from my exclusive fantasy club has taken a horribly shocking boyfriend and has thus fallen from my interest. I'm sure she'd be heartbroken to know.

The cat is still up. The tags around her neck that read "I'm not really yours" are clinking somewhere in the dark of the other rooms.

A few things since I'm here - I do read most every one of your blog comments and they warm me. I'm not sure who would want to publish my book, but I'd certainly enjoy writing one. I'd love to show you the cat, but I know you're just trying to see if she's yours so you can prove to the police that I am the culprit. Plus, lets be honest, I don't know how to put pictures on these things. Finally, I can't spell. You know it, I know it. It's just how it is.

This is all nothing. Though it goes against my inclination, I know better than to write another million words at this hour, in this state. I know they'd converge into some hellacious read that would bore and confuse you, and possibly incriminate me. The Delerium coming through the speakers is too poetic.

I've decided Digital Prints are to the art world what techno is to the music world. I decided today that since you're all at your computer you should start digital hardcore bands. ATR and [error] made me wonder where they all have gone. Don't get accustomed to the quick read, it won't be the standard.

What's so great about being a human? Start the riot.

DXH

5:55 AM