Writing, mostly poetry. Reading, mostly poetry. Hiking, if only I had mountains. Coffee. Not Sleeping. The inteternet as a concept, maybe as a hobby. Guitars. Chair sculpture. People who can ties knots in things with their tongues or get out of bras surreptitiously. Girls who are into philosophy or poetry. Short girls with brown hair and/or olive skin. Utah. Cartwheels. Organic gardening, communal and alternative living. Genetic Engineering. Frosted blueberry pop-tarts. Caligula, Vespasian, Heliogabalus, Nero and Shaka Zulu. Art that moves. Women who dance. Pets on treadmills. Veiled threats. Guys who design 'places for friends' in hopes of meeting more women. Trebuchet. Anything orange. Skunks. Soprano and Tenor Saxaphones. I'm afraid I could go on forever...
A woman whose voice is a mandolin, whose moods are like New York winter tides, whose eyes and fingernails come in matching surf and overcast sky. I want her skin to feel like craters in the morning and like sand at night. She must pass through me like light, one moment a particle of me and the next waving me goodbye. She must pass me like the moon promising to drag me behind her again tomorrow night. That means not you.Humans in general: I always like to talk to artists, vagrants (although most of you admittedly have little computer acces) and assorted crazies. Anyone who can trace their lineage back to Confucius or to Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Anyone who writes or tries. Anyone who can explain why green is the most sublime of all jello flavors.
ten million monkeys rockin' on guitars.
Secret of N.I.M.H. Anything with Humphrey Bogart, parker posey and steve buscemi. Yes all three of them in one film. I guess katherine hepburn and Ethan Hawke (my one true love) deserve mention as well.
Could you please fuck this puncture wound please? I think it may be healing.
Reading: Debord, Brunner, Salinger, Dean Young, Vonnegut, "Sources"
The man behind the pet-rock, Bragi Boddanson and writing profiles while delirious from lack of sleep.