the eyes of my eyes are open
Sep. 26th, 2001 11:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslantmy mother tells me my father has nightmares about the bombings.
i called j last night, we talked a long good while. discussing [de]mobbing celebrities on the streets. take the money and run! i am to visit her in the city of disasters sometime soon, possibly mid-oct. although it appears to me all difficult things happen mid-month, lately.
and the word of the day? is mawk.
said writes me, says he sent the check. i think he lies through his gold teeth.
for jr and only for jr have i begun reading the books. you know. the unmentionables. the harry potter books. he says he reads a chapter and walks around the house smiling like he's just written it himself. pride and glee. so last night i scanned over to "no commercial potential", some local station show playing vaguely ambient things. like radios fading in and out. the fizz and pop of static. and i read the first chapter. and i got sucked in.
and sia laudato mtv, hallowed ground of shallowdom: last night we watched the making & world premier of the video for britney's newest, "i'm a slave 4 u." her in the glittery shine of baby oil, pants so low her tattoo showed, shimmy bellydance moves in some imaginary abandoned asian bathhouse with dj skribble. there are nearly no lyrics, which helped: just that slut purr saying the title line over and over and the slow delicious downward slide of the notes. i hate her and i love her. the camera's eye that fucks her with light and space and nuance.
it made me miss bellydancing.
email nonsense continues. words spill out and are sent before i can think better of them. how far can i push? still i think of j's words, the trickeries of fear that [k]need me everywhere. i fold these thoughts of might-have-beens out of sight, like the eggyolk into the hill of flour.
i called j last night, we talked a long good while. discussing [de]mobbing celebrities on the streets. take the money and run! i am to visit her in the city of disasters sometime soon, possibly mid-oct. although it appears to me all difficult things happen mid-month, lately.
and the word of the day? is mawk.
said writes me, says he sent the check. i think he lies through his gold teeth.
for jr and only for jr have i begun reading the books. you know. the unmentionables. the harry potter books. he says he reads a chapter and walks around the house smiling like he's just written it himself. pride and glee. so last night i scanned over to "no commercial potential", some local station show playing vaguely ambient things. like radios fading in and out. the fizz and pop of static. and i read the first chapter. and i got sucked in.
and sia laudato mtv, hallowed ground of shallowdom: last night we watched the making & world premier of the video for britney's newest, "i'm a slave 4 u." her in the glittery shine of baby oil, pants so low her tattoo showed, shimmy bellydance moves in some imaginary abandoned asian bathhouse with dj skribble. there are nearly no lyrics, which helped: just that slut purr saying the title line over and over and the slow delicious downward slide of the notes. i hate her and i love her. the camera's eye that fucks her with light and space and nuance.
it made me miss bellydancing.
email nonsense continues. words spill out and are sent before i can think better of them. how far can i push? still i think of j's words, the trickeries of fear that [k]need me everywhere. i fold these thoughts of might-have-beens out of sight, like the eggyolk into the hill of flour.
