I'm thinking about vincent gallo's penis and how it shouldn't have been in Chloë Sevigny's mouth. I'm thinking about how hard it is to soak sand in tap water.
I'm thinking about my hangnails and how they bother me but the indifference I have towards cutting them off.

I'm thinking how it would be nice if this summer didn't end until I've gone kyaking.

Four other girls and I live in a white house with a porch and pillars that remind me of animal house. We have a basement which has been converted into an apartment and a piece of plywood has been screwed into place to keep the two places seperate.

There is an old 1970 something trailer just off the side of my room, that has been converted into an effieciency, the trailer and the basement share a bathroom just a bit below my room. I can hear whenever the efficency guy goes to the bathroom or when he spits.

Our basement dweller (what we so lovingly dubbed him) has just had a child. This child's mother did heroin while she was pregnant, and that's straight from the dweller's mouth.

Despite the many disturbances we've had with our good ole' dweller there is one that broke the nipple off the statue. This has just been an on-going episode of calling the cops to protect his pregnant girlfriend from getting beat and getting the cops called on us because this dweller was too drunk to distinguish 'college girls' from 'meth heads'.

A few nights ago while I was away my roommates had to call the cops because the dweller and the effiency guy and several off their scummy friends were banging on that piece of plywood as well as the pipes saying profane things such as "come down here and suck our cocks bitches" and "you sluts probably are just mad because no one will fuck you" Which, I find quite hilarious considering every one of us has a boyfriend and the dweller has almost no teeth, a heroin-using girlfriend that he beats and the efficency guy is short, fat and had beat his girlfriend so bad she moved out. So really we aren't the ones having problems getting laid.

The cops were called and threats of restraining orders have been put into place, We have tried to completely ignore these men for the LONGEST time but they just keep harrasing us. I don't have the money or the patience to press charges so I've had to resort to keeping weapons at our house for protection.


What I don't understand is why people like this exsist, is it the way they were raised? the lack of love in their life? have they been shot down by too many pretty girls? or are they just too stupid to understand that women, unlike some of their previous love affairs, are not helpless little creatures that come crawling back to abusive men because they cannot take care of themselves.

My sinuses pour out the smell of caracois.

The little mouths screaming silent screams.

I stick a toothpick into their shell and fish them out one by one.

and their little mouths still screaming silent screams.

they're juicy and taste like the sea, their shells are covered generously with butter, salt and fresh Iberian garlic. Juice dribbles down my chin.. success.

 I lean back in my chair letting the juice drip down towards my breasts, the warm Mediterranean wind drying it to a salty crust. I scratch it off and watch the particles mingle with the scent of the eucalyptus forests, the green olive trees and the wisteria bushes.

 The caracois scoot around on the cobble stone street unaware that I have just taken advantage of their tasty little friends. I smile as I pick the fresh parsley out of my teeth.

I smile while their little mouths scream silent little screams.

The unusual shape of the Sperm Whale's head is due to a massive
cushion-like growth on the front of the head known as the spermaceti
organ. It contains a clear, oily liquid called "spermaceti." In early
times spermaceti was believed to be the sperm whale's semen. Today, this
liquid is called "spermaceti" or "whale sperm. The species common name
comes from this. Incidentally, we do not know, to this day, what
significance spermaceti has for the whale.

"Yea though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil:

because I'm the meanest son of a bitch in the valley."

 

What do we say to the person who had ripped the limb off of our most precious possesion? Spun around and twisted by the foot, her body is launched from her plush femur with incredible force.. so much force that her torso comes in contact with the table lamp and sends it sparks and shatters all over the mauve carpet. She wasn't just a toy, she was a friend, and now she is legless as I sit with a piece in each hand  while tears well up in my eyes.

Bastard! and no amount of cerulean thread will ever make her the same.

So I've got this new boil on my toe, you see, and it's developed a sort of head of some kind. But I'm talking the real kind, you know with eyes and teeth and hair and sneeze. I heard it speak the other day, it was singing morrocan love songs and doing so off key.

I tried to cover it up, with vasoline and bandages, but the fucker likes to chew. I can't wear shoes anymore and my love life has been greatly affected by it. Last night I took a machete to it, my toe, my foot, and as my foot lay there turning white the little fucker sprouted legs and ran away.

 

and he had nicer legs than me.