Near Matches
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2
October 30, 2002 (idea)
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(
idea
)
by
contagiousinfection
Wed Oct 30 2002 at 21:15:21
The Art of Selling and Buying Time or Love is Severe Brain Damage
Mall: 10:19 am. Immediately I am bombarded by a
woman in a windbreaker
. She rushes up to me,
moral
justice
flashing
in her regularly dim eyes, lips pursed, face wrinkled into a permanent frown.
"Do you still have those calenders showing women's
naked
bottoms?" she says, in a self-righteous manner.
Of course we have them,
as long as women have attractive pieces, this corporation will make a calender featuring those parts
.
"Hot Buns?" I ask, hiding my smile. I will not reveal my utter amusement.
Her glasses are
unstylish
, her neon yellow and blue
windbreaker
tied around the waist of the jeans that are cut unrevealingly high and tapered at the lower leg, leading up to worn white and blue
Reebok
s. Her hair is short; mid facial level. An uninteresting cut. The kind of hair no one notices or
remember
s. Her woman companion is her clone, a bobble-headed
marm
. I can tell that these petite unattractive brunettes in thier mid-thirties are
mothers
. I can imagine their blank-eyed towheaded
sprogs
as their moms are standing irritatingly close to me, by the look of them I can tell without a doubt that they are surely avid
frothing
members of the
PTA
. These woman have never smoked a
cigarette
, let alone a
joint
and probably
power-walk around this mall
(instead of their respective
suburban sectors
) out of a
paranoid
fear of being
raped
.
I lead them over to a rack filled with calenders featuring
girls in bathing suits
,
garter belt
s, and
thong
s. I pick up Hot Buns and display it to them. My pink
lip gloss
glistens, I am sweeter than
candy
.
"Hannah, look at this
smut
. This is disgusting. This is
exploitation
!"
Hannah, the
dowdy
old hag is appalled, "I can't believe that you display this kind of pornography (she says this with a little extra
zesty Judgement
in her voice) in clear view of
children
!"
I'm still holding Hot Buns. My pupils are
pinpoints
, if I could narrow my eyes just a
little
further, perhaps I could jab these
sheltered beasts
with them.
She sighs.
"Thank you." Shaking her head.
And I am quick to exclaim with
horror
and
lack of sleep
and lack of
caffiene
and lack of
nicotine
and lack of a
decent
job:
"Well are you going to buy the
fucking
thing or not!??"
Wrong response.
Their ruffled feathers are ruffled further and they briskly
power walk
away, swishing ther irritating arms from side to side.
A bad hair cut walks by and provides her damnable insight "Nice hair!".
I am grinding my teeth. I feel the urge to tear out my hair. To spit on the shiny
gumball machine
. I keep my
saliva
to myself. Such a display would be bad for
customer service
.
I'm
angry
because I'm in
love
and because the loudspeaker is playing "
I Want to Hold Your Hand
".
I want to be at the apartment pouring
tequila
in my naval and having him
drink
deeply from it.
A young black man walks by as I am scowling at calenders featuring God's little abominations, the
Bichon Frise
, and chewing my finger obsessively (a little trickle of blood running down my finger) and he says:
"Come on baby, it's not that bad." As he says this he does that snap and point at the same time thing and I'm tempted to whip the Bichon Frise
calender
at his head like a frisbee as he walks away, casually bumping along to some silent unknown beat.
...
Earlier, he took me for
breakfast
. One of those Mom and Pop things. One of those places that the same group of old men and women gather at every morning grasping at some
semblance
of a
joyful
life.
We ate and conversed and watched the traffic on Main Street.
I kept staring at his eyes; foolishly-madly-intoxicatingly-insanely-extremely-crazy-fucked-up in love with him. As he spoke, I could only think one thing; I would
bleed
for him.
Being around him makes me want to say sappy regurgitated lines that people in love always say to each other in
romantic
little places like this.
My heart beats for you.
Love is severe
brain damage
.
October 29, 2002
October 31, 2002
October 30, 2003
E2 Secret Santa 2002
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Kid A
Rocky Horror
Donna Summer
Halloween
eco
I am an unprecedented scientific horror of malfunction and disease
November 29, 2002
November 23, 2002
3:24 AM and drinking alone
Why fight this
November 5, 2002
Jam Master Jay