SEE PREVIOUS POST for INARI's - Profile #1. It rocked my world so I decided to emulate her zaftig magnificence, follow sexy suit and post my own rendition. Way she goes...
Name: Sailor Lo
Interests:
INTO... California, Rainbow Rolls, ska, National Geographic, dead things, writing, painting, cello, and the coming of age
NOT INTO... Self-centered humans, body-image issues, energy drinks, brand-whores and mangia cakes
MAKES ME HAPPY... letters, old Polaroids, oldies radio, Inari and her vegan treats
MAKES ME SAD... nostalgia
HOBBIES... wine, writing, walking and wakes
5 THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT....water, air, vegetables… I’ve managed to live without a lot.
VICES...aspartame, OCD
THOUGHTS ON SG… If it feels good do it.
Personal:
OCCUPATION... Previously “The Intern” currently Unemployed student and optimizing every moment.
CURRENT CRUSH...Chris Creswell
STATS...growing out of that waif-phase into my inherited Calabrese bod and embracing it!! ;)
BODY MODS... I want and I will just once.
HEROES... Roxy Munro, Troy Billings, Robert Munsch
GETS ME HOT... Plaid. (Bonus: Likes eating.)
SIGN... LIBRA
MOST HUMBLING MOMENT... Every-time I remember what it was like to be the fat kid with braces and glasses.
I LOST MY VIRGINITY... No. It’s right where I left it.
CIGARETTES.... is my dad’s signature scent.
MY DIET... vegetables, fruit and the occasional bowl of cereal. I don’t care if it isn’t well-balanced; you’re not my mother so get bent.
ALCOHOL... Five Star Rye and homemade vino.
MY DRUG USE... prefer herb to prescribed medications
MY KINK FACTOR... el oh el eh Loooola.
MY POLITICS... radical & progressive
POT...and pan.
MY STATUS... Independent.
MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME... A quiet night out and a wild night in.
MY PIGEONHOLES... Librarian, teacher, Catholic school girl. (GAG)
Ha. That was kind of fun.
xoLO
If I were a tattoo I’d be: writing on your wrist.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
My soul is clean, my heart is pure...everything else is filthy as hell
Why do Suicide Girls get a monopoly of those righteous profiles? 'Cause they get paid to look gorgeous and naked? Fuck that shit. My SG profile:
Name: Lulu
Interests:
INTO...scribbling, chocolate chip cookies, tattoos, cotton undies, red envelopes, Japanese vending machines, melons, labradoodles, rare meat, submission
NOT INTO...long toenails, nasal voices, bossiness, mushrooms, anything loud that isn't grindcore underscored by bed springs
MAKES ME HAPPY...cookies, quiet, nice smiles, emoticons, inspiration, magic hour
MAKES ME SAD...boredom
HOBBIES...making the world a better place, one skinny white guy at a time ; )
5 THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT....water, air, love, peace, Nutella
VICES...arson, ganj and all the other little things that explain the second half of this post's title
THOUGHTS ON SG....I prefer my porn with less production value and more anal fisting, thank you very much : p
Personal:
OCCUPATION...poster bitch
CURRENT CRUSH...the sphincter monster <3
STATS...halfway between 'normal' and 'A+ Whitney'
BODY MODS...none yet, but give me time
HEROES...Amy Sedaris, Karen O
GETS ME HOT...math :p
SIGN...Scorrrrrrpio
MOST HUMBLING MOMENT...oh God. Every waking moment is like a lesson in humility.
I LOST MY VIRGINITY...when the wife was away : D Sssshh
CIGARETTES....are gross
MY DIET...hardcore carnivore covered in Nutella
ALCOHOL...meh
MY DRUG USE...daily and for the better, trust me
MY KINK FACTOR...tbd
MY POLITICS...I have none.
POT...Please!
MY STATUS...Super, thanks very much.
MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME...A good movie, some fresh pineapple and a warm, dreamless sleep
MY PIGEONHOLES...Asian fetish, supernerd
Kinktastically yours,
Inari
If I were a weird fetish, I would be...fishnets in cookie dough
Name: Lulu
Interests:
INTO...scribbling, chocolate chip cookies, tattoos, cotton undies, red envelopes, Japanese vending machines, melons, labradoodles, rare meat, submission
NOT INTO...long toenails, nasal voices, bossiness, mushrooms, anything loud that isn't grindcore underscored by bed springs
MAKES ME HAPPY...cookies, quiet, nice smiles, emoticons, inspiration, magic hour
MAKES ME SAD...boredom
HOBBIES...making the world a better place, one skinny white guy at a time ; )
5 THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT....water, air, love, peace, Nutella
VICES...arson, ganj and all the other little things that explain the second half of this post's title
THOUGHTS ON SG....I prefer my porn with less production value and more anal fisting, thank you very much : p
Personal:
OCCUPATION...poster bitch
CURRENT CRUSH...the sphincter monster <3
STATS...halfway between 'normal' and 'A+ Whitney'
BODY MODS...none yet, but give me time
HEROES...Amy Sedaris, Karen O
GETS ME HOT...math :p
SIGN...Scorrrrrrpio
MOST HUMBLING MOMENT...oh God. Every waking moment is like a lesson in humility.
I LOST MY VIRGINITY...when the wife was away : D Sssshh
CIGARETTES....are gross
MY DIET...hardcore carnivore covered in Nutella
ALCOHOL...meh
MY DRUG USE...daily and for the better, trust me
MY KINK FACTOR...tbd
MY POLITICS...I have none.
POT...Please!
MY STATUS...Super, thanks very much.
MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME...A good movie, some fresh pineapple and a warm, dreamless sleep
MY PIGEONHOLES...Asian fetish, supernerd
Kinktastically yours,
Inari
If I were a weird fetish, I would be...fishnets in cookie dough
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I cry tears of tequila and I be crackin' skulls
It’s Friday night and I’m dancing on a riser completely worry free. Saturday morning comes around and I wake up in a bath of endless tears.
***
On Saturday January 24, 2009 at approximately 8 am I became aware that I was in the process of waking up from a dream. I had already been up once at 4:19, had eaten a Subway-serviette-full of ripe red cherries, and checked the Newyorktimes.com. Still tired, I curled back upon my sister’s bed, pulled the duvet over my head and fell fast asleep once again.
Fast-forward 3, 4 hours later and the reel of my subconscious continued to project images across my minds eye and yet it was desperately attempting to stir my body from rest. And although it was a seemingly desperate attempt, in retrospect I feel as if it wasn’t me consciously trying to wake. It wasn’t ME, or my conscious choice. It felt borderline supernatural; and I often associate connotative meanings of dreams to supernatural parallels which makes dreaming for me that much weirder. But this isn’t the weird part. The weird part is that as I was waking I was crying both in my dream-state and in reality. My eyes were still closed as tears literally flooded from my eyes and smeared down my face onto my pjs. Sizable, caricature versions of teardrops.
Eventually I squinted my eyes open to the dim room, blinded slightly by the white light streaming through the split in the curtains, and the first thing I felt was the cool wet trails down my cheeks, and the taste of salt on my lips. Still whimpering, my eyes focused and I realized my sister had been hovering above me asking me why I was crying, not understanding at that point that I wasn’t crying, but the me I was in my dream had been inflicted with pain. Mental pain, emotional pain… which leads to physical pain - and thus even more of a triggering cause for the tears.
I wiped my wet eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of my Ceremonial Snips hoody, touched my sister’s arm and told her “I’m fine. I’m fine.” And then proceeded to repeat to myself how fucked up the experience was.
My dream I guess was a nightmare that I’ve analyzed to reflect the anxiety that I have about the fact that there isn’t much stress in my life right now and am therefore ever-wondering when there will be again. Fear about the anticipation of anxiety if you will.
...And hence my immediate subconscious anxiety ensued. Weird. That and it was also weird that it was the first night I was sleeping in a location far away from the dream-catcher that usually sways just inches above me.
***
That night\morning my dad, who was also there, had no idea what had happened or that I was even crying for that matter. I won’t over-analyze this fact to mean anything more than it is. However unconventional and untraditional our father-daughter bond, we have quite the strong relationship and I rightfully blame his oblivious behavior to his numbing senses, and all of the other spoiling fruits of old age.
Perhaps he doesn’t see or hear as mindfully as he used to, and I more than often catch him staring into space as if in a deep sleep with his eyes open… but lately I’ve been doubting my accusations. Maybe when he looks as if he’s awake and sleeping, he is actually paying more attention to seeing other things I cannot (or care not to) see. What if there are parts of our subconscious that we become more in tune with as we get older – like seeing our dreams play out in front of us as we are awake? And what if when this happens we just call it crazy rather than take it for the signs we can interpret them to be?
Just last night my dad had asked me a question about whether or not I noticed something about someone that we had both been in the company of just a few days prior. His observation seemed to come from nowhere, as at the time it was as if my dad was off in space, observant of nothing… just the glass of wine in front of him, it’s pungent and dry taste.
The observed detail (which I choose not to disclose on an open forum) was rather acute, but what my dad had associated this detail with and what it would mean, would have been an obvious thing to notice about a person. When I told him I thought his observation was wrong and crazy, he told me I was – that he knows what he saw and therefore believes what he saw to be as true as blood is medium-rare red. What if he wants to believe something so bad that he saw it? We do that sometimes don’t we? - Want to believe (or believe in) something so bad, we convince ourselves? But what if we want to believe so bad we can MAKE it true? Make it real. ...I think that happens sometimes.
What if I’m convinced that I had been in a dream and I was crying because of what had happened in my dream and that everything is fine… but really what was in my dream was actually reality and everything is not fine? Who can really be sure? How do I know what’s real and what isn’t? And who decides?
I think for the most part I equate belief with a want for that belief. A want for something that may or may not be there, but for whatever reason we want it, or perhaps need it to fulfill something indiscernible inside of us. ...But then again, I was once told starting any thought with “I think” implies doubt and lack of belief and should be, therefore, completely denounced. And I think I believe that too.
I know nothing is concrete. Everything that actually exists we cannot see, we cannot think – we can only feel.
Xo LO
If I were any song by a punk-metal band with a brass section I would be: Fuck with the Rose.
***
On Saturday January 24, 2009 at approximately 8 am I became aware that I was in the process of waking up from a dream. I had already been up once at 4:19, had eaten a Subway-serviette-full of ripe red cherries, and checked the Newyorktimes.com. Still tired, I curled back upon my sister’s bed, pulled the duvet over my head and fell fast asleep once again.
Fast-forward 3, 4 hours later and the reel of my subconscious continued to project images across my minds eye and yet it was desperately attempting to stir my body from rest. And although it was a seemingly desperate attempt, in retrospect I feel as if it wasn’t me consciously trying to wake. It wasn’t ME, or my conscious choice. It felt borderline supernatural; and I often associate connotative meanings of dreams to supernatural parallels which makes dreaming for me that much weirder. But this isn’t the weird part. The weird part is that as I was waking I was crying both in my dream-state and in reality. My eyes were still closed as tears literally flooded from my eyes and smeared down my face onto my pjs. Sizable, caricature versions of teardrops.
Eventually I squinted my eyes open to the dim room, blinded slightly by the white light streaming through the split in the curtains, and the first thing I felt was the cool wet trails down my cheeks, and the taste of salt on my lips. Still whimpering, my eyes focused and I realized my sister had been hovering above me asking me why I was crying, not understanding at that point that I wasn’t crying, but the me I was in my dream had been inflicted with pain. Mental pain, emotional pain… which leads to physical pain - and thus even more of a triggering cause for the tears.
I wiped my wet eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of my Ceremonial Snips hoody, touched my sister’s arm and told her “I’m fine. I’m fine.” And then proceeded to repeat to myself how fucked up the experience was.
My dream I guess was a nightmare that I’ve analyzed to reflect the anxiety that I have about the fact that there isn’t much stress in my life right now and am therefore ever-wondering when there will be again. Fear about the anticipation of anxiety if you will.
...And hence my immediate subconscious anxiety ensued. Weird. That and it was also weird that it was the first night I was sleeping in a location far away from the dream-catcher that usually sways just inches above me.
***
That night\morning my dad, who was also there, had no idea what had happened or that I was even crying for that matter. I won’t over-analyze this fact to mean anything more than it is. However unconventional and untraditional our father-daughter bond, we have quite the strong relationship and I rightfully blame his oblivious behavior to his numbing senses, and all of the other spoiling fruits of old age.
Perhaps he doesn’t see or hear as mindfully as he used to, and I more than often catch him staring into space as if in a deep sleep with his eyes open… but lately I’ve been doubting my accusations. Maybe when he looks as if he’s awake and sleeping, he is actually paying more attention to seeing other things I cannot (or care not to) see. What if there are parts of our subconscious that we become more in tune with as we get older – like seeing our dreams play out in front of us as we are awake? And what if when this happens we just call it crazy rather than take it for the signs we can interpret them to be?
Just last night my dad had asked me a question about whether or not I noticed something about someone that we had both been in the company of just a few days prior. His observation seemed to come from nowhere, as at the time it was as if my dad was off in space, observant of nothing… just the glass of wine in front of him, it’s pungent and dry taste.
The observed detail (which I choose not to disclose on an open forum) was rather acute, but what my dad had associated this detail with and what it would mean, would have been an obvious thing to notice about a person. When I told him I thought his observation was wrong and crazy, he told me I was – that he knows what he saw and therefore believes what he saw to be as true as blood is medium-rare red. What if he wants to believe something so bad that he saw it? We do that sometimes don’t we? - Want to believe (or believe in) something so bad, we convince ourselves? But what if we want to believe so bad we can MAKE it true? Make it real. ...I think that happens sometimes.
What if I’m convinced that I had been in a dream and I was crying because of what had happened in my dream and that everything is fine… but really what was in my dream was actually reality and everything is not fine? Who can really be sure? How do I know what’s real and what isn’t? And who decides?
I think for the most part I equate belief with a want for that belief. A want for something that may or may not be there, but for whatever reason we want it, or perhaps need it to fulfill something indiscernible inside of us. ...But then again, I was once told starting any thought with “I think” implies doubt and lack of belief and should be, therefore, completely denounced. And I think I believe that too.
I know nothing is concrete. Everything that actually exists we cannot see, we cannot think – we can only feel.
Xo LO
If I were any song by a punk-metal band with a brass section I would be: Fuck with the Rose.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I'd like sex on my pancakes... I mean Aunt Jemima
Good writing is like good sex is like good vino. I imagine it only gets better with age.
...And food tastes so much better afterwards.
xoLo.
If I were any type of menu I'd be: All day breakfast.
...And food tastes so much better afterwards.
xoLo.
If I were any type of menu I'd be: All day breakfast.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
the weapon was drain-o
My mother was scrubbing the kitchen floor on her hands and knees with a pail of aqua and 3 ounces of bleach when her water broke. Later that evening I came along. 3 days late and post tubage-tie. I wonder what it all means?
I know I've been in film school for the past 3 and half years but today was my first time seeing David Fincher's Fight Club. I guess I never got around to popping it in... But today I had this urge. Mind you, I'm only part way through, but I just needed to pause to get this out.
I finally understand why it gives so many film-geeks such a boner. I mean, it blatantly ruminates how human beings who really want to feel and live seek out and embrace kind of a hope for tragedy. I dig where this is going.
I was browsing passages from the book from which the film was adapted and wanted to share this one in particular:
Lola Anarcha N.
If I were a form of vandalism I would be: spray-paint on a playground.
God bless America.
I know I've been in film school for the past 3 and half years but today was my first time seeing David Fincher's Fight Club. I guess I never got around to popping it in... But today I had this urge. Mind you, I'm only part way through, but I just needed to pause to get this out.
I finally understand why it gives so many film-geeks such a boner. I mean, it blatantly ruminates how human beings who really want to feel and live seek out and embrace kind of a hope for tragedy. I dig where this is going.
I was browsing passages from the book from which the film was adapted and wanted to share this one in particular:
x's and o's bros,The mechanic says, “If you’re male and you’re Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if your father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?
...
How Tyler saw it was that getting God’s attention for being bad was better than getting no attention at all. Maybe because God’s hate is better than His indifference.
If you could be either God’s worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose?
We are God’s middle children, according to Tyler Durden, with no special place in history and no special attention.
Unless we get God’s attention, we have no hope of damnation or redemption.
Which is worse, hell or nothing?
Only if we’re caught and punished can we be saved.
“Burn the Louvre,” the mechanic says, “and wipe your ass with the Mona Lisa. This way at least, God would know our names.”
Lola Anarcha N.
If I were a form of vandalism I would be: spray-paint on a playground.
God bless America.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sexless in Camaguey City: A “Karen to Your Hank” Complimentary Piece
Normal reasons to skip going to the gym: Sick, Tired, Sore, Twisted, Pulled, Broke, Busy.
I stayed home from the gym because I thought there was a mouse in my running shoes, so I flipped a cardboard box overtop of them, and have left them that way overnight. In the morning, I perch up on my computer chair, and poke around at the box. I scare the shit out of myself when I think I see the mouse’s tail poke out, but in actuality it was just a shoelace.
So I guess you could say I am a pretty paranoid person.... Maybe an over-thinker, with a wild imagination. It comes from being a writer. Or from having an abundance of X chromosomes (Or 2 anyway).
And so of course I will wildly over-think what my “ONE” is thinking. He is after all, an ocean of inexplicable thoughts, never to be fully explained.
Excerpt from IF KEY-LIME PIE COULD SCREAM:
VIDA
So he thinks I look good, and therefore that I must be having sex? He obviously thinks that I COULD be having sex. And shouldn’t he be thinking about whether or not he’s having sex with his finance?
MARGE
There was enough sex in that thought train to be on the cover of Cosmo.
(beat)
And trust me, nobody thinks about having sex with their finance.
VIDA
I wish that was true.
MARGE
Oh it’s true. Velveeta, I’m not trying to give your destructive thoughts clout, but I promise... no man in the history of the universe, has ever masturbated while thinking about the girl he is currently with.
Now I go to the advice of one of the wisest people I know.
There are three reasons for any action:
1) The reason the person thinks they are doing it.
2) The real underlying reason
3) The person’s ulterior motive.
The underlying reason:
Men will hang onto the women they have fooled around with as a safety net in the event that their current relationship does not work out. They keep them close for this reason, but always at a distance. When the girl starts to drift away, the man will do something to pull her back to that comfort zone, but still without letting her past the barrier.
I want a guy who finds me interesting because I AM INTERESTING, and not just that he finds me interesting when it’s him doing all the talking. I want a guy who doesn't yank me around just because he has power over me, a guy who doesn't second guess, but instead is in awe of every part of me. And as much as I want to force this quality upon the guys I already know. It seems...
Ugh.
Desiree
If I were a quote from a movie I would be... “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
I stayed home from the gym because I thought there was a mouse in my running shoes, so I flipped a cardboard box overtop of them, and have left them that way overnight. In the morning, I perch up on my computer chair, and poke around at the box. I scare the shit out of myself when I think I see the mouse’s tail poke out, but in actuality it was just a shoelace.
So I guess you could say I am a pretty paranoid person.... Maybe an over-thinker, with a wild imagination. It comes from being a writer. Or from having an abundance of X chromosomes (Or 2 anyway).
And so of course I will wildly over-think what my “ONE” is thinking. He is after all, an ocean of inexplicable thoughts, never to be fully explained.
Excerpt from IF KEY-LIME PIE COULD SCREAM:
VIDA
So he thinks I look good, and therefore that I must be having sex? He obviously thinks that I COULD be having sex. And shouldn’t he be thinking about whether or not he’s having sex with his finance?
MARGE
There was enough sex in that thought train to be on the cover of Cosmo.
(beat)
And trust me, nobody thinks about having sex with their finance.
VIDA
I wish that was true.
MARGE
Oh it’s true. Velveeta, I’m not trying to give your destructive thoughts clout, but I promise... no man in the history of the universe, has ever masturbated while thinking about the girl he is currently with.
Now I go to the advice of one of the wisest people I know.
There are three reasons for any action:
1) The reason the person thinks they are doing it.
2) The real underlying reason
3) The person’s ulterior motive.
The underlying reason:
Men will hang onto the women they have fooled around with as a safety net in the event that their current relationship does not work out. They keep them close for this reason, but always at a distance. When the girl starts to drift away, the man will do something to pull her back to that comfort zone, but still without letting her past the barrier.
I want a guy who finds me interesting because I AM INTERESTING, and not just that he finds me interesting when it’s him doing all the talking. I want a guy who doesn't yank me around just because he has power over me, a guy who doesn't second guess, but instead is in awe of every part of me. And as much as I want to force this quality upon the guys I already know. It seems...
Ugh.
Desiree
If I were a quote from a movie I would be... “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”
Sunday, January 11, 2009
the Karen to your Hank à la "Californication"...
Consider the "One."
Not "the One" that 30 and 40 somethings refer to when they identify and describe the over-idealized man they're searching for, and when they find him will subsequently handcuff, chain down, and marry.
But the "One" that never seems to go away... that still plagues and blesses your subconscious, emotionally and anatomically speaking, no matter the distance... the time... or the others that have come along and in between. The One that, even far and long after the fact, still gives you butterflies... or roller-coaster feeling, with which I am more familiar and attuned.
Who is it? Think about it... It may be from last year, the year before, high school, your first relationship, your last relationship ...the subway, kindergarten, whatever. There's someone and if there is really someone they probably have already popped into your mind... or perhaps have crossed it at some point during your earlier daily endeavors prior to reading this.
Now consider chance encounters with that "one."
Are chance encounters with that one, in fact chance? OR (however convoluted the idea of chance vs. destiny may be...) are they all a part of fate? ...Some greater scheme sending messages that we, on this side of the equation, wish were as obvious as we analyze them to be but are in actuality quite definitively obtuse?
I'm starting to think... rather I've always believed (or maybe it's just me reading into everything like a typical GIRL) that there is no chance when it comes to HIM whoever your "HIM" (or "ONE") may be. Something is being said here. If it's only you that's hearing anything, perhaps you're underestimating, understating what in fact is running through the mind and body of your "one." So when you see him from afar at the GO Station with his girlfriend... or run into him flying solo at Mickey Finn's drinking Coors Light on tap (it's both your first time there oddly enough) or if you see him through the window at a Bubble Tea joint in some suffocating suburban town... don't just brush it off as some mischievous teasing plotted out by some higher power. And don't freak yourself out that it's only you or was only you that feels some sort of electric current, charging from aura to aura like bodily subliminal messages transferred and received on vibe and vibe alone. Accept the pieces as they come and eventually the picture will become more clear, more communicative, and easier to piece together.
But really... come-on...nothings fun when it's easy.
From this perspective... life is what you could call "aloof" ...much like Pharaohs and their whole entire existence. Ancient Egypt yo... very aloof.
Damn his eyelashes. Damn his little black earrings.
xoLOla.
If I were any character from "the Outsiders" I would be Ponyboy Curtis.
Not "the One" that 30 and 40 somethings refer to when they identify and describe the over-idealized man they're searching for, and when they find him will subsequently handcuff, chain down, and marry.
But the "One" that never seems to go away... that still plagues and blesses your subconscious, emotionally and anatomically speaking, no matter the distance... the time... or the others that have come along and in between. The One that, even far and long after the fact, still gives you butterflies... or roller-coaster feeling, with which I am more familiar and attuned.
Who is it? Think about it... It may be from last year, the year before, high school, your first relationship, your last relationship ...the subway, kindergarten, whatever. There's someone and if there is really someone they probably have already popped into your mind... or perhaps have crossed it at some point during your earlier daily endeavors prior to reading this.
Now consider chance encounters with that "one."
Are chance encounters with that one, in fact chance? OR (however convoluted the idea of chance vs. destiny may be...) are they all a part of fate? ...Some greater scheme sending messages that we, on this side of the equation, wish were as obvious as we analyze them to be but are in actuality quite definitively obtuse?
I'm starting to think... rather I've always believed (or maybe it's just me reading into everything like a typical GIRL) that there is no chance when it comes to HIM whoever your "HIM" (or "ONE") may be. Something is being said here. If it's only you that's hearing anything, perhaps you're underestimating, understating what in fact is running through the mind and body of your "one." So when you see him from afar at the GO Station with his girlfriend... or run into him flying solo at Mickey Finn's drinking Coors Light on tap (it's both your first time there oddly enough) or if you see him through the window at a Bubble Tea joint in some suffocating suburban town... don't just brush it off as some mischievous teasing plotted out by some higher power. And don't freak yourself out that it's only you or was only you that feels some sort of electric current, charging from aura to aura like bodily subliminal messages transferred and received on vibe and vibe alone. Accept the pieces as they come and eventually the picture will become more clear, more communicative, and easier to piece together.
But really... come-on...nothings fun when it's easy.
From this perspective... life is what you could call "aloof" ...much like Pharaohs and their whole entire existence. Ancient Egypt yo... very aloof.
Damn his eyelashes. Damn his little black earrings.
xoLOla.
If I were any character from "the Outsiders" I would be Ponyboy Curtis.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Estoy enamorado de usted. Pero no sé a quién usted es ... aún.
There is something incredible and yet almost impetuously destructive about making eye contact with a total stranger. It's like I can see through a soul on a street-corner. And it sends an emotional surge like a heroin fix through the tangles of my veins leading straight to my heavy heart. Sometimes I can't explain this weird feeling that overwhelms me. It can happen anywhere and almost instantly and the feeling is synonymous and interchangeable with a number of feelings and meanings. But it can't just fit into any simple terms or convenient definitions. It's neither bad nor good, but almost godly. The only way to describe it is that it's fleeting. Romantic. Poetic really.
I enjoy simple solitude. My encounters with any number of you may be few and far between but it just has to be this way. It has to. For now. Until I wake up and it doesn't have to anymore.
It's now 2009. It was New Years Eve 08 only a few short days ago. This means it's been three whole years since... three years....Jesus.
xo Lo.
If I could show you the ocean in the look of an eye... I would.
I enjoy simple solitude. My encounters with any number of you may be few and far between but it just has to be this way. It has to. For now. Until I wake up and it doesn't have to anymore.
It's now 2009. It was New Years Eve 08 only a few short days ago. This means it's been three whole years since... three years....Jesus.
xo Lo.
If I could show you the ocean in the look of an eye... I would.
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