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i'm off to LA for a mexican wrestling match. i'm entering my mask. feliz navidad.

oh and, fuck the cold. fuck the mta. fuck the twu. biyotches. you biyotches better have your strike shit figured out by the time i get back.

ugh. i can't believe i drank the whole thing.

thiings are changing here. it seems like the site had more personalities before. it's beginning to feel more like buttman (or buttwoman) goes to budapest. after a while a boob is a boob is a boob. where are the characters? i'm going to give it until the end of Q1 2006. after that, i guess i'm out of here. not that i'll be missed. oh,...
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elliot, cummings and pynchon
my poetic forefathers
their legacy
an unbridgeable gap between my emotion and language
but still a desire
like icarus
to describe
one green night

it was the buzz and snap of the alcohol
the glass, it's natural pairing,so ridiculous
foreshadowing perhaps
the hunt is on
i wished
my head fogged by the ether, the wish would pass
i hoped
experience and...
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"I'd like to say to the good citizens of Dover: If there is a disaster in your area, don't turn to God. You just rejected him from your city."

Ha!

burn paris, burn.*





* this in no way reflects current franco-american relations, but instead delight in general anarchy, i.e., smash the state.

chatter box.

funny.

innie or outie?

best song in an animated series. cartman en route to kenny's house for dinner singing "in the ghetto" by elvis presley.