becoming an expatriate. jameson, jameson, jameson, pernod. cheese, except for really stinky cheese. searching for the perfect red lipstick. sitting in front of clooney's at 5:30 in the morning with emily waiting for it to open, giggling and falling down. knee high socks and hair accessories. sitting in parks and inventing stories about the people who pass me.
nice boys i can drink whiskey with and read to. keith richards.
bauhaus, nick cave, dead can dance, suede, pulp, rolling stones, slowdive, jesus and mary chain, elliott smith, the smiths, the cure, cocteau twins, the stone roses, mogwai, gorecki, leonard cohen, my bloody valentine, sigur ros, tom waits, this mortal coil, primal scream, radiohead, joy division, magnetic fields, johnny cash, led zeppelin, bob dylan, and mazzy star......how i long to sing like hope sandoval.
i've taken quite a liking to broken english. annie hall, manhattan. closer, it's so real and fucked up. a gary oldman film can do no wrong.
my roommate has me hooked on weeds and dexter. i've a guilty pleasure for the tudors.
currently the alienest by caleb carr for i've a fascination with old new york. the sun also rises and a moveable feast by hemingway. always, the diaries of anais nin and the biography of keith richards.
i'm working on one day being my own hero. i think that would be nice.