coming to you live from macchu pichu. or however the fuck you spell it it doesn't fucking matter since this is even less real than graphite or more real or whatever since there are no goddamned expecations from the universe

yeah i can't listen to jazz. i'm incapable. i could when i was sort of dead and dreary-minded a long time ago. my deadness now is still not as dumbed as then. now i can barely even listen to my gorgeous cha-cha and conga and ballroom albums. aren't those beautiful words? far better even than "rococo" and "carmine" and "redolent". well maybe not better, but the meanings are better anyway. who gives a shit about interior design and potpourri.

i think i'm about seventy-three percent vegan but i'm not quite sure how to go about calculating that. or i'm not quite willing. just like when i had one of the five or so meaningful ideas for paintings that i've ever had, one of which i've actually executed, when i had that one that would have required several mathematical formulas in order to be executed truly and correctly, i was not willing to do the math. DO THE MATH! fuck you, dad.

but it would serve god so maybe i should do it someday.

it would serve jesus in salinger's terms which are the only ones i buy.

sorry eric knapp, but if i can't make you love buddhism then we can't be friends. i mean, you're dating lindsey spurrier, for chrissssakes. (there's some slovenly slurring for ya. i'm such a little tart.)

and GODDAMMIT buddhism is NOT the same as hinduism. fucking cracker. i'm not a goddamned polytheist. goddammit.

why can't we be friends why can't we be friends (the one thing smashmouth did okay was something they stole... FIGURES!!)

tart tart tartytwat... too bad i'll never care enough about french underwear and fuckme shoes
'twould have been fun

remember paris, we'll always have paris!!!! :) :) :) :) :)

how may i serve you, radiohead??