A Random Image

Archive for April, 2008

 
|| April 19, 2008 || 1:32 am || Comments (5) ||

This is called ‘You Forgot…’

or maybe even ‘Were’

You, well….

You forgot.

You forgot to ask a question;

Not just any question, but a

Question that would reveal

Just one more piece of me

That –quite foolishly–

I tried to shove back away from your view

(Never mind you’ve the keenest

Of all the views, pff)

(And by ‘all’, I mean

‘All that ever in my life Were’.)

You forget that should

I pull out all the stops–

Rearrange time, move space

Come running with a scarf on my head and a

Bold lipstick on my mouth

–Should I do these significant things,

I’m not sure if it matters all that much.

Anyway.

You forgot that once I’d pressed

My palm to yours

There would be the loud

Rush of bees, my very own.

You forgot my promise, I know;

You forgot I would not press

My brazen lips to your own

Nor would we press

Naked hip to naked hip,

Sigh unto sigh (and back

To stuttered inhalation again)

Wait, I recall there would be

One other thing I could press upon you:

My gaze and, my heart be damned,

Anything that is not of

You would fall clean away.

Should you or circumstance chance to fuck it up,

That would be straight from

The Greek stage.

The chorus, though, wouldn’t be able to keep up.

 
|| April 18, 2008 || 7:04 pm || Comments (0) ||

life is strange

Well, what do you know….it was brought to my attention yesterday that I am now a Wiktionary citation.

The wordnerd is excited, beloved Muffinasses: That is some sexy shit indeedy.

 
|| April 16, 2008 || 11:18 am || Comments (0) ||

Or maybe it’s just my addictive personality.

The thing about art is that the more you take in, the more you want. Prima facie:

+ letterpress + rock = horny me

+ a prince among men

+ found and re-worked (and somewhat similar to some things I’ve done)

 
|| April 13, 2008 || 12:16 am || Comments (1) ||

Adequate Girl rides again; where oh where is Elucidator Man?

My right hand is tight, stiff. The underside of my knuckles are bruised and battered and swollen. I was here to type out the story of why, but I lost steam midway through and my gumption has taken a backseat to my fatigue this weekend.

It is a good story: Within its environs two people, quite to my surprise, pronounced me a superhero. They were two people who were nothing at all alike and who also love and (more importantly) like me very much. I return those sentiments to them in spades.

I have been having adventures and they haven’t been making it here, sorry. I’m going to try and correct that real soon.

Right now, though, my hand hurts. And so do my legs, come to think of it.

Tomorrow afternoon I embark upon the wily task of hostessing a bridal shower. I never knew the damn things could grow so expensive so quickly, but it’s my own fault for liking to put on the dog when I’m in charge of a partayyyy. I’m making a margarita punch, because how else will I (and a couple of my favorite others) deal with all that fucking estrogen crowded into one place? Please find the recipe attached below.

In other news, we are just under one month away from the personal holiday that I like to refer to as My Tractorversary. I let Chris Robinson call it Cankleversary, because that tickles him, but don’t any of the rest of you try it or I will hit you with a tire iron or something equally redneck-y and violent. Chris has put in the TIME, yo, and that is his own little reward. Cankle, cankle-cankle, CANKLE.

HERE IS THE PUNCH RECIPE, AS PROMISED, EVEN THOUGH IT HURTS MY HAND TO DELIVER IT TO YOU. I DON’T MIND THE SACRIFICE, THOUGH, BECAUSE I AM A GIVER, DAMNIT, AND YOUR AMUSEMENT MEANS SO MUCH MORE THAN MY OWN PERSONAL COMFY WELL-BEING:

Six cups water

One twelve-ounce can of frozen cranberry juice cocktail

One-half cup fresh lime juice

One-fourth cup sugar

Two cups ice cubes

Two cups tequila (the original recipe calls for one cup, but really, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?)

Two limes, sliced

Mix that shit up, kid. Everything but the limes, that is. Stir until sugar dissolves. When the sugar gives over to the way of the gun (that would be ‘you’ and ‘your awesome stirring technique’), float some lime slices in the bowl. Garnish your punch cups with a lime slice. I personally like to go all kamikaze and rim the punchbowl with pretty margarita salt, but you may not be as a) dedicated or b) fancypants as me. It’s alright, not many can be.

 
|| April 2, 2008 || 11:40 am || Comments (8) ||

oh man, so great

One of my patients just said, “Best make-out tape ever: ‘Best of Bread’, side two.” Then he rolled his eyes orgasmically and licked his lips. This is all because the strains of ‘Baby I’m-A Want You’ were flowing through the speakers over our heads.

THAT is why I’m all about music, if you didn’t know. It signifies all sort of connection: To our own histories, to other people, to infinite feelings and places and moments.

 
|| April 1, 2008 || 2:29 pm || Comments (2) ||

hey!

The stories are still marinating, but Doo-Nanny photos (some of them, anyway) are up.

hellO
:: hellO ::

So much fun. SO MUCH.