we reserve our new years for personal improvement. i prefer to focus on my own personal insanities. instead of thinking ways to make my life "better", i prefer to think of the things that make life worth destroying.

for instance, i enjoy drawing juvenile nonsense pictures on other people's bodies.

this year, i resolve to draw things on people i've never met.

may i borrow your hand?

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the storm

in crawford, texas - right when saddam hussein was hung - george w bush was hiding in a tornado shelter, with his family and his dogs. sweeping storms from a high-level low pressure system brought tornadoes and hail and thunderous lightning and freezing rain in thick sheets.

iraq culture is a culture of revenge. allowing the man to die - as evil as he was - was allowing the revenge culture to continue.

i wish the had sent saddam to the hague for his crimes against humanity.

and right when it happened, our religious president was hiding from the sky.

on the barnes and noble wallpaper, the café where all those literary greats drink and smoke like sinners, bears the name "café chocolat" on the door.

i assume the chocolate referred to in the name is the dark kind, because these particular authors are certainly in hell. sodomites and liars and fornicators, all -- (god bless them and their brilliant books).

also, they’re all white. not one black, asian, or hispanic author among them. sad. i guess frederick douglass and zora neale hurston and tomas rivera and yukio mishima all made it into heaven. (which, i reckon, is odd since mishima committed harikiri.)

anyway, hell is definitely segregated.

also, they call the cafe "chocolat", but the patrons aren't chocolat at all. call it "cafe vanill", barnes and noble. and put some other ethnicities up there before somebody sues you.

does isabella allende want to know this about her novel eva luna?

an old woman clutching the book open on an early page (3 or 4), has dropped off into a slumber. Her labored breathing moves her whole head. her hands remain latched to the pages of the book.

does isabella allende want to know this about her novel eva luna?

an old woman wakes suddenly, and adjusts her grip. she scans the page for the sentence that triggered the unintentional sort of dreams. in moments, the old woman has fallen again.

does isabella allende want to know this about her novel eva luna? a lullabye for elderly women, and bestseller internacionale.

new clothes for christmas

every christmas, santa brings me clothes. new jeans. new shirts. new underwear and socks.

as a child i hated this. as an adult, i understand and desire this. i am not one to buy myself new clothes unless i'm positively falling out of them from the rags and ruins. each christmas, someone who notices my visible decay offers replacement parts to my wardrobe.

thus, do i update my blog in such a manner. i like tripod fine for free websites, but their blog feature has been a headache since the beginning. i looked around at all the better blogs, and they were here. so here i am.

this is my new megaphone. my old one was falling apart. happy holidays, and etc.