así como el shófol de la ipodia, que se complace en enviarme justo el combo TheCure-DresdenDolls-NinaSimone-James-DamianRice que sin fallos termina por arrancarme lágrimas mientras troto por toda la ciudad bajo este infernal sol de invierno, con el resultado que ando por la calle con una cara de compungida que daría orgullo a magdalena,
igual que
alguien en eltrabajo dejó ayer por casualidad una taza de fucking chocolatito sobre la repisa, que yo me tiré toditita encima de los únicos pantalones limpios que no están rotos y de los Nikes más bonitos del mundo, que me compré justo ayer y que son lo único que me proporciona placer estos días. nuevos duraron... alrededor de cinco horas, y eso que yo venía hasta pisando con cuidado para que no se arrugaran,
igual que
hoy alguien volvió a dejar otra taza de chocolatito en el mismo lugar, que yo ME VOLVÍ A TIRAR ENCIMA encima de los otros Nike más bonitos del mundo, que acababa de lavar para que no se sintieran mal junto a los nuevos, y del único par limpio de pantalones rotos que me quedaba.
(ahora ya no sé qué me voy a poner mañana para el trabajo).
así como
cómo te atreves a decir que me gustan puras banduchas alternativas.... imbécil.
o
señora, sería tan amable de cerrar la puerta, porque me estoy bañando. verá cuando cuelgo la toalla en la puerta, cierro con seguro y abro la regadera, espero que se note que aquí hay un ser humano que espera un poco de privacía.
y NO, esos no son mordiscos, son moretones porque en el fondo soy una bruta salvaje y cuando me sale lo hooligan pretendo irme con sansón a las patadas, lo cual significa que mi hermano me dio tal paliza el sábado que creo que un metacarpio me está saliendo por el codo.
así, o más frustrante.

el nuevo amante es imperturbable y remoto como las nubes en este cielo tan octubre y tan azul. pasa lista como general despótico y no tiene el menor reparo para indicar, señalar, corregir y reprender todo lo que no es de su completo agrado. hablamos y hablamos desde extremos opuestos de su prístino y perfecto sillón, escuchamos música, él me reta un poco, yo lo mando a volar, me pone nerviosa y él lo sabe. eso le hace pensar que él gana, lo cual a mí tan me parece curioso como me tiene sin cuidado; es mejor siempre dejar que él piense que va ganando, a menos que sea estrictamente necesario demostrar lo contrario. nos caemos en gracia el uno el otro a pesar de que somos tan distintos, a él le escandalizan mis distracciones y mi estado de caos y llamas perpetuas, yo le hago burla por ser un pequeño dictador intolerante.

este nuevo amante es frío y contenido, sin diminutivos ni hadas transparentes, no se nos pierden demasiadas caricias entre los embates y mordiscos nocturnos y el reservado beso de despedida por la mañana. sin embargo esta mente calculadora no es insensible, sabe jugar sus cartas, me planta enfrente un plato de comida caliente y observa con cierta diversión mi aturdimiento ante estos cambios, que un chico me sirva de comer para variar. de la misma manera muy serio se levanta y gruñe de ida y vuelta del clóset para envolverme en un suéter y me dice que debo comer más dulces o me voy a quedar pegada al piso este invierno.

todo esto a mí me viene muy de perlas, me gusta este guey un poco indiferente, un poco lejano, yo me callo y lo observo, le dejo hablar, luego él me deja hablar, ninguno de los dos siente la necesidad de fingir o forzar absolutamente nada más de lo que ya está ahí. para mí esto está más que bien, porque estoy demasiado exhausta para saber o querer explorar lo que siento. sólo quiero seguir y estar bien.

UGGHHHH remember when work wouldn't let me live??

I think I would be either a) killing myself, or b) very exalted in the altitude of my person-ness, or in short being horrible either way, if work hadn't already plugged every single sinapsis I have available now --granted I've killed many during the years. so I haven't had much choice but doing the johnnie walker and propelling on.

so in the end, are these architectures, pretentions.... or eyelash problems?? stop the WOOKIE! WOot!! pirates all aboard!

(by the way, shopping is stupid, not a single decent looking black hoodie in the whole town..... but I managed my coveted underwear catharsis, that marvelous moment when I am the new owner of pretty new underwear, that has NEVER been touched, looked at, clawed at, not to mention removed by/torn by any guy. then I feel clean & pure again, like I can... maybe look at a happy couple on the street and not evoke SHARK WEEK in the discovery channel or wish for angry pitbulls to tear me apart in 80 agonizing bites.)

while I'm free, a memory:

B: R, top five musical crimes perpetuated by stevie wonder in the 80s and 90s. go. subquestion: is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins, is it better to burn out or fade away?

(of course, this is on I Just Called to Say I Love You, High Fidelity.)

update: since I never seem to acknowledge good things, I wanted it to be on the record that the ipod, my own, my precious, works wonderfully this morning and all it wants to do is rock.

thanks siddharta and the power of visualization, everyone should try it.

now I'm off to see if I can visualize myself a little trip to europe...

yesterday I came up with the great idea of taking a stroll in the early evening, with the pretext of getting some air and looking for an extension cord. the cord I couldn't find, I found plenty of air along with rivers of pouring rain, plus I managed to lose my purse, with my cellphone inside, together with my atm card, my credit card, and the voter's card I had so improbably managed to hold onto since the age of seventeen.

but despite this bleak pre-start of the week, and despite the fact that I had to wake up at an unholy time, nothing better to kick up the self-esteem on a monday, having to take three coins from the garbage guy money to secure more minutes in a payphone so I can fully explain my mother that I lost the wallet and phone again and ask for her help cancelling everything, since I definetely don't have the coinpower-- despite all that, I thought I was having a pretty okay day until a couple of hours ago, when my ipod took the plunge and jumped into the water in the shower.
(of course I wasn't taking a shower with the ipod on, I was attempting to unplug the showerdrain, my life is full of excitement.)

I am trying not to let this make me feel bad, it will probably be all right after it's dried out, I'll sit here and visualize my ipod back to life, but suddenly I want nothing but pizza. and vodka. and hard drugs.

happy monday. pray for ipod.

to those cunts who tried putting a knife to my brother's heart, I curse you once, twice, thrice, and a thousandfold, you and your own; may your hair and teeth go loose and fall off, your eyes get sore and dry, may your feet blister and swell inside your shoes, and may someone step on them repeatedly, may your team always lose at the last minute, may your dog bite your ankles when you pass by, may your wives always be bitches to you, and never ever shut up; may your food forever and ever taste like fatman in the subway ass, and may your water always have someone else's boogies in it.

and when you die we'll meet in Hell, where I shall kick your balls for eternity.

I keep thinking, I should write more and then I just don't. I guess I'm probably not the first wannabe who just collapses under the amount of time it takes to actually write things down, as opposed to just having an ongoing dictation in my head. my problem is that I am uncapable of short and sweet, which means that I get run over by my complex compound ideas, and I try to mash them over with badly overinflated runon sentences... which takes up a lot of time.

I've been feeling good these days, the lens shifted once again and I'm not seeing everything askew (or: shit) anymore, or at least not all the time. I've been trying to extend my social web, but so far it's mostly been an exercise of my imagination, that is, in my head I make plans and pretend I'm doing stuff, like going to see a friend's dance festival, or going to a party with friends, but when the time comes, I always end up saying something like 'meh. I think I'd rather stay home and work on some comparative history' (i.e., watch season 1 of Rome and ponder on just how tall and rough Titus is.)

this weekend though, it looks like interesting things might happen outside the scope of my hollow head; M and I might go out of town on sat for another edition of Boy's birthday.

last time I was there, donkey's years ago, we had a huge psychodelic brawl, I got thrown into the pool and one of my favorite watches was ruined, we danced on the counters, and did naughty stuff in tents, had a grand old time, surely; early next day, drama unfurled like a new rose; while everyone screamed and flapped their arms in efforts for conciliation, I took Jack Kerouac's On The Road from a shelf, sat on the shade with some beer and gatorade (to prevent from crumbling into a pile of hungover dust) and read about half before the drama was fully wrung out, explored, discussed, analyzed, and forecasted. oh and we found out we weren't too nauseous for lunch anymore.

that wasn't too bad, except for the drama part that still gallops into these days, as dramas are known to do. who knows, with a bit of luck maybe I'll finish reading On The Road at last this weekend.

adoro a mi ipod (favod). estas últimas semanas se ha convertido en casi apéndice, tanto que hasta escucho ruiditos cuando no traigo puestos los audífonos, escucho la música a todo lo que da, creo que un poco fuerte porque veo que los vidrios de las casas vibran a mi paso y al ritmo de mi canción, pero poco me importa. el alivio de poder levantar una muralla de sonido entre el mundo y yo, vale absolutamente todo, incluyendo el riesgo de que me aplaste una marquesina en llamas mientras yo ignoro los gritos de advertencia. de cualquier forma, estos días Me Vale Verga lo que me pase, así que lo único que realmente vendría a arruinarme el día es que me asaltaran y se llevaran mi ipod.... otra vez.

pero en fin en esta vida hay que correr riesgos, no.

entonces ahí voy, tratando de huirle al mundo, al mono en mi espalda y a los demonios y ánimas y otros bichos que se me andan pegando, camino todos los días de regreso del trabajo, para espabilarme, para despejarme, para (no) pensar, para (no) soñar, y entonces más bien camino como quien marcha por tierra de nadie, ignorando semáforos y viejitos y vendedores ambulantes,

y así es como ayer casi me voy, cuando vi un hueco en Patriotismo y me aventé para cruzar como si no hubiera un mañana, o más bien como a quien Le Vale Verga; y que los ocho condesitas que venían detrás de mí, todos como de doce años, pensaron que ésa era la señal para cruzar la calle y que se lanzan detrás de mí. por una vez mi burbuja de sonido se vio vulnerada, con el chirriar de frenos y claxons, me pasó rozando un Mercedes y bueno, casi a todos nos lleva la carambola, entonces así estuvimos de cumplir nuestros sueños, yo el de que si me atropellan, que por lo menos sea un buen auto; el de mi hermano, de llevarme varios Condechis The Next Generation como souvenir; y el de otras personas de dejarme embarrada por todo lo ancho de una gran arteria vial...

This funk just won't leave me be, and I realize it's been two years since I last had any psych control. I left it at the time because I was feeling better after two months of treatment, my life had kickstarted in some sort of motion again and I just couldn't be bothered with spending any more money on a doctor who couldn't remember my name or keep track of my prescription.

however, now I'm thinking this is probably more than a funk, it's been a few months since everything became all difficult all over again, balance all gone, no will to do anything except moan and cackle manically at dusk...

I know I don't cope well with change, and there's been a lot of that lately; I'm not that blurry around the edges yet, I haven't missed days at work, I'm not headbanging against walls or flinging cats or the homeless, but I'm not sleeping and I've caught myself giving some speculation to the sharp objects around the house, and people are giving me weird looks in the store which means I'm thinking aloud again, and that tells me I might be seriously heading towards ga-ga land, especially if I let myself, but I'm not going to do that. I really don't have the time or the inclination. despite what everyone thinks, I do not like being miserable.

so I'm toying with the idea of finding myself a therapist. only toying for now, cause I still have a couple of aces under my sleeve (and my heart, I seem to keep it there these days it seems), I plan on giving the wheel of kharma one hell of a FUCK OFF soon if things don't start looking up....

in the meantime the therapy is my daily hour of Scrubs, then Seinfield. and today was extra special because Scrubs was on again right after! yay!

laughs awww:
(the song is Sugar Baby Love by The Rubettes, from the st of a Breakfast in Pluto, which is one hell of a good movie...):

ABSOLUT bananas

this week I'm a model of industriousness, even right now as I attempt to catch up on my correspondance --mostly with about.com--; spellcheck the last batch of the latest riveting issue in the Car Manual Saga, 207,000 pages of pure raw excitement; telepathically contact 1) my french boss, who's probably wondering what could possibly make me confuse 'i'll check in on tuesday' with 'I'll call on thursday. maybe." 2) my bank, so they'll crunch debit & credit to come up with rent money sufficient for the last month of my residence herein; puzzle out what to wear to work tonight, since after three days of ongoing event I have wrung out every possible use out of my very limited wardrobe, especially on the shoe area; conciliate the fact that my online radio station is playing damian rice AGAIN and thus now I have successfully managed to choke up at 10 am;

and I make my attempts from my bed because I'm utterly exhausted. intensity strikes down again with more relatives passing away, impending doom on the lovefront, with a lot of things that need to be done/said/dealt with on both of our parts, inminent homelessness and destituteness, plus I've newly rediscovered an old knack of mine, the amazing nausea in the morning... all that on top of having to run all week on heels and interpreting vodka tastings (which is excellent fun I promise, no complaints there except for yesterday night, when I had to apologize in the name of my country and humanity in general when some stupid pimply junior came to one of the most renowned cocktailers in the world, and who probably is worth more than him and his father combined, and ordered a vodka tonic. fortunately the mixologeer is so cool he politely told him to sit down and be quiet instead of cursing him in swedish, smashing a martini glass on the bar, and cutting Pimples a little, like he was entitled to).

oh and I just found out my cellphone is dead, cause in all this tedium I haven't found the time to go and pay the bill. yay.

also, I think I live in the twilight zone. ufos might still get me...

ayer cosí un botón por primera vez en mi vida, casi. bueno, recuerdo que alguna vez en la secundaria tuve que entregar un trozo de tela con botones de varios colores y tamaños para la clase de manualidades... pero estoy casi segura que mi abuela los pegó todos, porque yo nunca di pie con bola.
continúa la limpieza el día de hoy, con una buena esquilmada al jardincito, algo que quería hacer desde hace semanas y curiosamente terminó haciendo alguien que no vive en la casa... vergüenza me debería de dar.
mi teléfono está suspendido por flagrante exceso de pago, llevo días cargando un cheque para pagarlo pero no he reunido las suficientes sinapsis para 1) cobrarlo y 2) pagar mi saldo. ahora debo vivir incomunicada, y así he de pagar por mis pecados.... que son muchos.
mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa.

someone get me DRUGS. I become such an awful, grouchy person without them. everything annoys me. that's one of the primary reasons I took up the smoking. and my awful stomach, too.

not having money annoys me. my transfer not coming in --yet-- annoys me. being unable to really tool my computer annoys me. not to mention the cats, all of whom could use a visit to the vet, specially sandokan, who's repeatedly trying to knock up my leg warmers. I can't blame him, they're really nice and puffy, but... argh.

speaking of --sandokan and the kittens. he gets in the box and lies with them. sometimes washes them. often sits on top of them. I've seen them trying to play as well, and the part that worries me is when he launches a playful righthand blow and I only see the two furry balls flying every which way inside the little house and going iiiiiiiiyyyaaah.

lily doesn't seem to mind, but I'm a worry-mummy.

chicken and the fucking egg. I wish I could lay eggs.

top 3 of sunday afternoon & smoking resin
1. skid row -- little shop of horrors
2. caught out there -- kellis
3. evil -- interpol

discombobulated

I just saw the whole troupe of the boys climbing to the roof, including a slightly height-panicked alex, all of them armed with seemingly tons and tons of raw hamburger, charcoal, and beer. they've been watching the championship league all morning and I guess it's time for feeding the beast.

I foresee a whole day and night of drunkenness and debauchery. I'm not in the mood for it yet, so I'm here potting around in my little yard, blogging, and smoking the mandatory bowl. I finally got the hoops to hang my sunthirsty plants from the walls so I started hanging them today, upwards and along the spiral staircase.

I would have done a much better job, however, if I had some nails for concrete, and if I had the expertise to nail them. I did such a poor job last time --knocked half the wall on me and still the thing would not be stable-- that I think I'll pass for the time being. I managed to hang my biggest baby cannabis, and now she gets all the sun she can need, and I'm quite satisfied with that.

what a boring saturday post. I could be sunbathing with a beer and a hamburger, and I'd rather be here talking about my plants. and wondering where in hell the stupid usb cable for my camera can be. not to mention the lid of the sugar bowl. and blockbuster's dvd, that'd be nice if it turned up, wouldn't it.

top nothin
1. tear you apart -- she wants revenge
2. spanish bombs -- the clash
3. ipanema girl -- the bossa nova go gos (just made that up)

I sell magic kitties --to be

after my poor glass bowl jude was killed last friday in a tragic and senseless accident, I've decided I'm definitely going back to the old piping bits bowl. perhaps it's not quite as classy, but I've always thought this kind smokes better, despite of what purists may say.

I lost my old bowl --a nameless one-- at one of the bacchanals next door sometime last month. so today, while visiting my honourable progenitors, I went on a run to the trinkety market and got a new metal bowl with a frowning skull on it, but it's also blue and pink. quite me, in fact. I even borrowed my mother's car to run my errand; talk about cyncism.

eh... bug it.

my dad's being really nice to me lately. nicest ever, even. my mother too, to be honest. it's sad to say but it pays to visit little, I suppose. the less they see of me, the better they like me.

or maybe they heard that I sent a text message to my half-sister telling her to bugger off, this is not daddy's cellphone anymore, stop sending pussy messages to this number. love, sis. and I don't feel in the least bit bad about it; it's sad enough that these people don't get it through their thick skulls that this isn't the right number a year after it changed, but excuse me if I'm quite tired of getting kissy kissy messages for 'daddy'. especially when most of the times my dad has said 'I love you' to me the sentence concluded with 'but for the life of me, I can't seem to get to like you'.

or realistically, it's just too much trouble to sort these tiresome missives and delete them from my very limited memory. it's one of those nuisances I choose not to live with. too bad.

my computer is fried and I'm completely broke. a small payment came in and that saved the day rentwise, but my payment from europe looks more stuck than ever. the whole story of chicken and egg; the problem could be easily solved if I had but a bit of money; alas, my liquidity went with the winter pallor in isla mujeres. oh malade.

so my money is there laughing merrily and dancing just out of reach. I almost don't worry much because as usual, the money is showing up so late that it almost makes no difference when it comes in anymore; I already owe it all so as far as I'm concerned, the credit card company can fuck off for another day.

in the meantime, the spring of love does go on...

top 3 janis
1. mercedes benz
2. summertime
3. ball and chain

aspirin?

good sunday around here. our lovely valentian came back from mother spain last night and I've been cavorting around him going YAY the entire afternoon. the boys also bought a grill, we made burgers, we took down the cursed fence so now it's only a thorny and hazy memory.

lily is very big now and when we cuddle together at nights I can feel the three zillion kitties inside her dancing the polka. my girls and the catnip are growing, my water lilies prosper.

and no, I don't miss anything. it's only three nights until wednesday, after all.

(do come back soon).

my payment still doesn't come in. I might have to sell my liver to pay for the rent.

top 3 of sunday warm beer but cool
1. under the bridge - red hot chili peppers
2. melissa -- the allman brothers band
3. what's going on -- 4non blondes

monstruation

life is majorly frustrating today. my own thirdworld-ness confounds me to no end.

mad, mad eleanor.

I just had to send back the first decently sized job my outsourcer in europe has sent me in months. my computer's fried and now I can't for the life of me remember a time when technology was last kind to me.

I have a twist or some stupid thing on my neck and i've been dizzy and queasy the whole day. hormones have intoxicated me and I guess I should be grateful I'm having my period after all the feistiness of the last fortnight, right. well shitting shit. fuck looking at it from the bright side.

stupid mr ekos and his ultimate hotness, and his being around so little in the last few episodes. I need his muscley shiny mean mother prescence to make me pant and forget how utterly terrible I am for administrating my own finances.

I hate it that it feels like punishment for running away for the weekend, even though I made sure to rely on not one but two payments, and not one but two computers, the old better safe than... ironic that now neither payment looks like it's ever coming in, and I can't get either computer to work right.

fuck my bank, too, who refuses to take transfers from abroad because I'm just not good enough. fuck bananacorp, where they think I can afford to just wait for a payment since mid february.

fuck bush and stupid donald rumsfield, who apparently owned Roche at they designed teraflu, and according my sir boss, engineered h5n1 in order to become richer.

3 songs for a horrible day
1. wave of mutilation -- the pixies
2. blister in the sun -- violent femmes
3. ashes to ashes -- david bowie

and the beat goes on

I meant to go to work earlier today, but I got sucked down a black hole and now I think I want to write a little, maybe. so all the tea in china can wait. literally.

T opened his own blog --dunno if he wants me to link him-- and he's been writing a whole lot like the very industrious blogger he is. it's kind of funny to read about stuff you think you know so intimately, told from the point of view of the other.
sometimes it's scary, but sometimes it's good to remember that some things did happen the way you remember them, and that all's well, you're not insane, that's the truth. it's reassuring to know for a fact I haven't spent these last three years daydreaming myself into oblivion.

this week has been such a whirl, in every possible way. marianne is still not talking to me, and I still don't know why. I even amuse myself trying to figure out what exactly can it be this time. is it that she's tired of closing the wardrobe door after me? maybe I'm wearing her shoes too often again. yesterday I sent her an email along the lines of whazzup, what are you so angry about? word, etc etc. still got nothin, nor in my inbox nor at home. we just glide by each other in perfect courtesy and make very little noise.

ahwell, such is life. off to the teahouse now.

top 3 allman brothers songs today
1. ramblin' man
2. statesborough blues
3. jessica

two things

on my mind... but now I've got to go to the bathroom, so I'll "b" "r" "b".

I'm back. okay first: dates. I'm a terrible dater. not taking this last one as an example, and I haven't had that many, but most of my dates have been hell. hell I say! boy, holding a conversation is usually so difficult, somehow. I hate feeling the effort pangs of the other person to strike for a common interest, if only because silence is just too upsetting. all that makes me nervous and usually all the conversation themes are either complicated (what's your favourite food? are you in a relationship right now?) redundant (what do you do? does it pay well?), or downright boring (are you from around here? what's your family lizzzzzZZZZz?) and/or stupid. we don't need examples of these last; skin diseases are only the start. I usually don't try to put in that much, myself, after I've got a couple of very confused looks from very random remarks of mine. I've only just discovered that I, on the whole, am mostly full of bull, that I talk bull most of the time, and that what I say is not to be taken seriously 99.8% of the time. furthermore, that I'm not interested in discussing really important, trascendental stuff with people I barely know. why do people always want to talk about real stuff in dates? jeez.

and on the other hand, when I've had a good date, most often than not I've ended up in a ride down a muliple day toboggan, like the one I just dropped from this morning, with a very sore body and a very round eyed look, usually wondering what the hell just happened.

I suppose it's good that I'm not asked out very often, and that I rarely agree to go out on dates, and that a crushing majority of them have been a disaster. I find I'll keep the no-dating policy on the whole, but upon committee meeting some exceptions may be made, with certain provisions and few limitations.

on the whole, though, I guess this still means I'm a terrible dater and I have yet to learn when to say 'thanks so much, I've had a lovely evening, now I have an appointment for my parrot's sunday evening manicure. after that, I have choir practice. good day, sir."

ohwell.

second: marianne, you twat. it's really exhausting when you act like such a big baby. if you're reading this, the message is, thanks for NOT throwing my freshly washed clothes to the floor, I suppose. other than that, be a fucking grownup next time and if you need the washing machine and you don't feel like talking to me for whatever mad reason, not even to solicit the removal of my finished laundry, have the decency to put them clothes in the basket at least, and not on the filthy top of the counter. thanks.

ah, and I really loved the detail that you picked out and hung YOUR t-shirt in the wash but piled the rest of it artistically because it was mine and you're throwing a tantrum. bitch.
yours truly,
eleanor.

top 3 two things
1. yellow submarine -- the beatles (for earlier)
2. cocaine blues -- johnny cash
3. break stuff -- limp bizkit (a good angry song)

lili ledí

cefemérides del catorce de marzo:

• hace tres años y un día, al hospital fui a dar con un ataque de histeria y de dolor. las enfermeras me dejaron tendida en el lobby y vomitando en una papelera hasta que mi madre llegó con el dinero de la admisión; sólo entonces tuvieron la bondad de darme una habitación para vomitar en privado. al día siguiente, el catorce, me fui a cirugía de emergencia.


• hace dos años, asistí con mi ya ex-novio a la comida de cumpleaños de mi madre. hacía un mes que habíamos terminado, pero nadie lo sabía y seguíamos pretendiendo en público.


• hace un año, mi momichi dio a luz a sus tres gatitas, mi lily de cabeza y por delante.
  
  en fin, un único acontecimiento luminoso aunque yo no estuve ahí, me enteré hasta el día siguiente.
  
  


• el día de hoy --un día que se va haciendo noche mientras yo sigo garrapateando como Notitas Ledí; mi hermano y yo estamos estacionados frente a nada, viendo nada excepto del humeante automóvil el cofre levantado, con nada en el estómago y nada en la cabeza más que puras amarguras.

* * * * * *

part ii

hello. we're still in the car. the hood is still up. the smoke still rises. we're both so hungry we can see the last sunrays shine through our paper-thin bodies as if we were japanese lamps. this is the fourth or fifth time we've had to stop and let the car take a breather. he smokes one of his cheap cigarettes, and I light up my joint. hey, it's just one of those days. we're still practically closer to my place than my parents', but the idea of turning back has never crossed our minds; it's holy Mother's birthday and we've already ruined it. we're obviously responsible for all the transit in this blessed city and they're not waiting for us for dinner. it's blatantly our fault that the car has to go coolant potty every ten or twelve blocks and it's taking us four hours and counting to get there. hmmmph! just rude.

also, the stereo of the car was stolen some weeks ago and we've discovered that neither of us knows the complete lyrics to the postal service's 'such great heights'. we suck. I forgot my book, so all that's left is to open my brother's Norton Anthology of English Literature and render an impromptu teary reading of the love song of j. alfred prufrock.

what a shitty day.

we ended up taking a cab to my parents' place and leaving the car at the first place we found open. then on the drive back to my place --full blast Cash-- I realized I left what was left of my excellent joint in the car. if anything, I expect the mechanic who kept it is having a hell of a time right now.

bah, what a shitty day.

top 3 of happy birthday, lily
1. sinnerman -- nina simone
2. cocaine blues -- johnny cash
3. the hardest button to button -- the white stripes

p.s. anyone should wonder that my cat's birthday excites me more than my mother's...

on it goes

maybe i'm just an ocean of hormones, and that is all.

lo que sera sera, whatever will be will be.

I wonder if someone else out there finds comfort in certain weird, bizarre, not completely benign facts like I do. here I am, 1 am in the morning, giving in to one of my secret obsessions. and hell no I'm not gonna tell. but I might make a postcard about it one of these days, if I ever have the spare time and the glue.

in the meantime, I'll just sit here and compulsively google up this stuff. instead of going to bed or goshforbid, working.

lily is sitting on my pc, and we're both nodding to some nice creendence; she's not very good at keeping the beat though. I'm happy that she's decided to join me tonight; since mila joined our happy little menagerie of six, both cats have rarely joined me at my computer anymore. and that sucks, because that's where I spend most of my time (no way eleanor --who'd've guessed? pffft.). in any case, I'm happy she's here and that I can hear her purring like a chopper.

yesterday night I made a little special chant-thing to quiet up my stupid dreams and got mixed results. I couldn't remember dreaming with that certain person this morning, and still can't, but later on in the day I realized I also had an awful nightmare about a skinless eyeless simian who was clutching my wrist and wouldn't let go. to be honest, I think I'd rather keep dreaming about my ex; I'm not that tortured.

and here's for lack of conclusion.

top 3 of grotesquely different tunes
1. lilly -- pink martini
2. run through the jungle -- creedence clearwater revival
3. basketcase -- greenday