connor is well. california isn't as far away from me as i'd feared. i'm visiting soon and he's coming up here to snowboard with me this winter. we'll carve mountains together.
drunk christian jocks should have mandatory curfews. it is 1:30am and some dumbfuck is crooning outside my window about how "totally fuckin' great" life and god and someone namned cindy is. i think he's puking. cindy'd better run.
it's funny how the wang chung you have one night can turn into a pile des ordures the next. today was all about mild exclamations interspersed with manic ellipses. ...!!! nothing translates. no compute. knowing that only the stars are making sense, tonight. just press the pen-tip against the page and stare, lying in bed waiting for the sleep to swallow whole. don't mind the monsters under the bed, in the next room, or from a past life. count the seconds between lightning and thunder. lightning and desire. everything must sleep intermittantly, even the monsters.
flicka flicka flicka. my toesies are still crossed. make it through the night, 'kay k? 1tg.