10.47am
Friday
9 September 2005

He seemed barely there, four feet away from her. He didn't know how to measure himself to what we call the Now. What is that anyway? It's possible there's no such thing for those who do not take it as a matter of faith. Maybe it was a physicist she needed to talk to, someone, she wasn't sure, who might tell her what the parameters were. She hated that word. She used it but didn't know what it meant and used it anyway. The birds were going crazy on the feeder.

--The Body Artist, Don DeLillo

I've got a good bit of chemicals coursing through my veins, and it reminds me how much I miss that feeling. I kind of like the fact that I've achieved such a strong sense of moderation that just a tiny amount of some drugs (caffeine, alcohol, rolls) can usually cause dramatic phases of the alterations I happen to be seeking, but of course all my neurons are just BEGGING me to give up the ghost of responsible sobriety.

• × • × • × •

I got my sewing machine working again, and in conjunction with my correlating NYC with the glamour and fashion of Sex and the City, I want to make closetfulls of intensely beautiful and absurd dresses.

At the end of my acid bender this past weekend, I got pretty adamant about the cutting edge fashion of my beat-up running shorts.

"If you didn't DOUBT IT, then it wouldn't be cutting EDGE."

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