tunnelslats

Mmmm, I'm making a dinner out of Manchego and Sauternes. Now that's some good stuff.
Last night I watched a couple of movies:
Paths of Glory--damn, this is one incredible film
Begotten--I blame this one for my having a dream about a woman who mutilates her husband and child, giving them arms like chicken wings and one short, disfunctional leg each. She also had a stash of human legs in her basement freezer, and some more wrapped in newspaper underneath the floor boards. Somehow it was apparent that she had them for a good reason, though. Mind you, this was not a nightmare, simply an observation of phenomena which seemed more or less normal at the time.

Tonight holds the promise of some art gallery openings, with the company of oak, dollface, and with any luck the video naughtiness girl.

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rip Johnny Cash.
But you won't see me crying any tears. The bastard had a good run and left us with plenty of good shit. Now he deserves a break, plus he's had a foot in the grave for quite a while, so I think we've all had some time to get used to the idea.