GOAL: read 50 books this year, 12+ by women.
1. Haunted - Chuck Palahniuk (**1/2)
2. the Jungle - Upton Sinclair (****)
3. Stranger in a Strange Land - Robert A. Heinlein ()
4. Bi any other name - ed. by Lorain Hutchins and Lani Kaahumanu (****)
5. Porno - Irvine Welsh (****)
6. the God Delusion - Richard Dawkins (*****)
7. Willard - Stephen Gilbert (****)
8. Rubyfruit Jungle - Rita Mae Brown (*****)
9. Mao II - Don Delillo (***1/2)
10. Rant - Chuck Palahniuk (****)
11. the Awakening - Kate Chopin ()
12. the Bust Guide to the New Girl Order - Marcelle Karp, Debbie Stoller (****)
13. American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis (****1/2)
14. the Plague - Albert Camus (***)
15. Physics and Philosophy - Sir James Jeans ()
16. The Rum Diary - Hunter S. Thompson (****)
so i've been busy
busy getting drunk
busy getting stoned
busy writing poetry
& i don't really want to write poetry
but on every scrap of paper i find
stumbling out from brain to pen
I've been sick since I moved into this house. Which sucks. My entire reality is living here in this new town sick as a fucking dog and goddamn fatigued all the time. I had been taking some over the counter medicine which was apparently making things worse- in my head.
I was also involved in another car accident. Some kid rear ended my roommates and yeah whatever. Vehicles collide all the time. Lots of people drive on the roads and it's perfectly natural that there are many minor incidents that go unnoticed by the general public. People place a lot of stigma on them. I'm in a lot of them. So it's not really a big deal & I can't really even explain why I don't buckle up most of the time. If you're aware of it there are crash references everywhere. It invades popular culture as it creates our martyrs. As it our carves our imaginations, our physical bodies, the terrain. Those highly charged moments we're all subject to the minute we begin our commutes. Depersonalized scraps of metal suddenly become human. The blue Audi suddenly has a face and a name. A life. A favorite color. I really could go on forever.
baklava from smelly deli, rainy days off, porch couch incarnates, the very strange thing that happened this morning, drinking jones soda on saturdays, coffee cups, my new paper journal, the smell of toast, the mika song 'grace kelly', you.
put thing in boxes. put things in trash bags. put things away. things things things. space space space space. over & over again. do it. undo it.
i am all moved. all of my things are in this place. in space. and now i live in this new town where i don't really know my way around. and i don't know anybody. but i have a lot of house mates, so i am never alone...
today is moving day.
(almost) everything in boxes.
i fucking hate this shit, but it's going to be okay. i hate this old apartment more.
STUFF STUFF STUFF STUFF
like you wouldn't believe.
like i wouldn't believe...
my (only true male love) husband is coming here soon!
new subtle record out same day.
it is love.
it's like all my favorite bands are touring right now. it's finally a good time to be alive. i finally caught up with the present after being caught up in the past for so long. pop culture operates at warp speed. but are you ready for everything else? we'll fucking see...
we'll fucking see...