a woman content to let me worship her beauty and will not defile the gestalt of her body by letting words escape from it. and if she has a place to live, methinks i'm in the mood to syphon off of a woman again. nothing grand--- i have 72 typewriters; i need to obtain 27 more to fulfill my "one typewriter per rejection slip" promise, so if you have the space....
Who I'd hate to meet:
anyone who has been to Burning Man and enjoyed it--- anyone who pays a millionaire who profits on idiots who pay too much money to do drugs on public land - in a desert, in the summer - with a bunch of other idiots... just to watch something burn. we live in a desert. i grew up burning things here/doing drugs here--- never once paid anyone to do it for me and watch from a distance. burners are fucking morons.
anyone who uses that space to the left--- the one marked "Books"? ---as a space to put a picture of their self and some other girl almost kissing in a public place. it's not a place to put a survey about your kissing style/it is not a place for a picture of your celebrity look-alike (that you look nothing like)/it not a space for a survey/it is for nothing but the listing of authors and books; if you do not have that then, methinks, you are a piece of shit.
and, if they are listed - spell the bastards' names properly; christ almighty. i've seen Gaiman spelled four different ways - best so far is "Alfred Camus" . close second is "Frolinghetti" on the same dumb bitch's page....
Fantasies:
doodling this little 3" doodle at the D - trying to get the waitress to notice me - i remembered another fantasy. when i was working at Papa's there was a cute girl Bri who just turned 21 who would come up and lean her crotch against the metal prep table when i had the cheese grater going; she liked the vibrations on her clit. and i figure if that's the only way i can entice Calliope to come around, i'll plug in my IBM Selectric II because sitting on top of that thing while someone is beating at the keys would be better than fucking atop a washing machine on spin cycle. i'm sure the daughters of Zues will continue to ignore me but, well... worth a try.
still, the only reoccuring fantasy is a big-hipped woman - naked - on a barstool in a busy tavern. there is a bottle of dark red in front of her, two glasses and an empty barstool. tho, after re-watching The Dreamers--- that scene where Eva Green is wearing only a sheet wrapped around her hips and long black gloves against a black backdrop---? posed in a perfect Venus De Milo pose---? yeah. that. it's god damned perfect...