June 29, 2004

He Wasted A Lot Of Time In The Indoor Super-Store Under The Closing Time Lighting-Flash.

He wanted to watch a Simpsons episode on mute for a paper he always wanted to write, and we were thinking in paranoid, running out of time, before the gates closed down and the escalators stopped, and they'd come out to start cutting.

Posted by dean at 10:10 AM

June 24, 2004

You Used To Hole Me.

Posted by dean at 06:38 PM

June 21, 2004

Ode To Autumn, Page 69.

In an S&M bar in Plymouth, Massachusetts, the 50-ft. woman straddles your face and defecates 17,000 scrabble letters, fertilizing the fallow fields of your imagination.

And a new American style is born.

Posted by dean at 07:03 PM

June 16, 2004

Vegatively Shunner, Page 286 + 287.

"A trait. There are folks in our organization who think of what you have ... what you can do ... as a talent or an ability or even a kind of glitch."

"I also know that you didn't drop out because you were stupid; you dropped out because you didn't fit. In that way, you are like every other tranny I've ever met."

Posted by dean at 08:44 PM

June 14, 2004

Fugitive From A Centrifuge, Page 24.

"I'm trying to describe to her how beautiful the sunlight is when it strikes a particular skyscraper in the late afternoon, but without using the words beautiful, sunlight, skyscraper, or late afternoon."

Posted by dean at 08:02 PM

June 09, 2004

Brett Anderson : "Love Is Dead".

Nothing ever goes right
Nothing really flows in my life
No one really cares if no one ever shares my care
People push by with fear in their eyes in my life.

Love is Dead.

The telephone rings, but no one ever thinks to speak to me
The traffic speeds by, but no one's ever stopped too late
Intelligent friends don't care in the end, believe me.

Love is Dead.

And plastic people with imaginary smiles exchanging secrets at the back of their minds.
Plastic people. Plastic people.

Nothing ever goes right
Nothing really flows in my life
No one really cares if this horror's inside my head.

People push by with fear in their eyes in my life.

Love is Dead. Love is Dead.
Love is Dead. Love is Dead.
Love is Dead. Love is Dead.

And all the lies that you've given us
And all the things things that you said

And all the lies that you've given us
Blow like wind in my head.

Posted by dean at 10:37 AM

June 08, 2004

So I Tracked My Way Through Their Belongings.

Glorious spent-up stuff.

Victory!

What made it possible was hurt and guilt and the way I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.

Posted by dean at 08:12 PM

June 07, 2004

A Pile Of Eight Identical Phone Books Next To The Door.

She can tell from the walk-sounds and camera pans, that it's a girl coming down the corridor, pretending to be a song.

Posted by dean at 11:21 AM

June 06, 2004

Daydreaming.

Posted by dean at 10:51 PM

June 05, 2004

Your New Haircut Brings Out Your Old Face.

It makes it bigger.

You look like you have elephantitis.

Posted by dean at 05:08 PM

June 04, 2004

Mister And Aversa Have Two Daughters.

They love their daughters very much.

But they want a son, too.

Mrs. Aversa is expecting a baby.

Maybe it's a boy.

Posted by dean at 11:15 PM

June 03, 2004

It's Not Up To Her To Understand Why Those Vowels Came Out Of His Mouth.

Their words splatter on the hangar floor.

Smile-flattened, the propellant-fuel guard says something about inevitability and broken prophylactics, and her face dries to a halt.

Posted by dean at 12:40 PM

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