Americans,
claude le monde no networks, no nukes, not notcakes
how we do: + you are # |
6:38 pm | 28 January 2004 | collected works, vol. 2653 and now time for more attenuated entries so i have been listening* to a lot of old Pulp again, lately, and it's really really really good (you can get "Countdown," an early album compilation, and avoid a lot of the crappy-crap that way). i feel an especial shiver of dread and apprehension with these lyrics: I have a tattoo on my back, spanning my hips, reading DULCIUS EX ASPERIS in a sort of sober uppercase (like Nauert, for fonts, but handwritten by my friend Shawn), and now i have a really bitchin' bruise that runs the width of it, about an inch thick, from a windowsill (don't ask). i am injured a lot from sheer clumsiness/mishap, but this is one of my more-favourite ones. fyi. the problem i have with dating in general is i don't like datey activities. i like being at home and working on a painting while my sig. other works on his shit, or just listening to records or whatever. dates feel like interviews, and interviews feel like commercials, and commercials are fake. so there. my new strategy at work is to simply yell "Pants!" I think it has the highest chance of being accurate across the board to any question posed, plus it's just funny. PANTS! clm. *apropos of nothing, i initially typed this "leestening," leading me to believe that my left hand, at least, is mexican. unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |