uncommoncold

"I see you're drinking one percent milk.."

I've been trying to think of who I'd take a bullet for, but I really can't think of anyone outside of my immediate family. I'd still throw a few sloppy punches for others, though, if the need arose.. but I'm pretty sure that I would be a terrible fighter.

Watched Fight Club recently for the first time, save for the one where I was too drunk to stand. My memory of that occasion is fuzzy at best. Anyway, it made me want to get in fights just to taste my own blood and get really into urban anarchist bombings and art. Art bombs? [This bomb's made for lovin' and you can shoot it far..]

Tomorrow, I have a date with my good friend Euripides and his posthumously performed play, The Bacchae. Alliteration is my courtesan. I doubt this, er, "date" will be as hot as last night was (cryptic!), although there will be drunken Maenad frenzies involving the tearing apart of animal carcasses. And of course, my man Dionysus- the ultimate metrosexual before metrosexuality was hip. Three thousand years ahead of his time. He's no stranger.

I still have a crush on my hat, shoes, and knee socks. Here's proof:



[I saw stars. Honestly. My peripheral vision shimmered with white light and there were moments where I forgot where I was. Those stars.]



You know, I was really irritated with myself for immediately associating those oh-so familiar swoosh marks with Nike. Then I remembered that human beings are structured largely around the recognition of symbols. And patterns. I got over it.