porn, super porn
last month was a good year
2004-02-22 | 2:22 p.m.

My scintillating weekend. Breathtaking, unforgettable! Last night after dispensing Sam at the house of one her dispensable friends, I cracked open a bottle of red wine and finished Farewell to Arms. It made me sad. Most people find the world completely absorbing and dandy, and that is fine, Nietzsche had plenty to say about that. But I find everything to be so frivolous and easily understood that it is difficult to transcend the everyday grind (hahaha, I'm at mojo's coffee shop, hahahahurrumph). I don't mean to be self-indulgent, but I believe that there is no morality apart from man; therefore moraliy is fallible and changeable and completely open to interpretation. I find it frustrating when desultory moral labels are placed on situations in which it is impossible to draw any clear conclusion. I must confess that I have no philosophy, nor piety, nor patience, no art of reflection, no theory of compensation to meet things so hideous, so cruel, and so mad, they are just unspeakably horrible and irremediable to me. In other words, I suppose, I am terribly hypocritical.

I realize that there are three types of women, and all three of them are in the same room with me at the moment. There is the small, assertive, patronizing one that is indefatigably talking with condesceding gestures. There is the medium-sized shy and quiet one that never meets the eye, that speaks uncertainly and laughs nervously. Then there is the large one that is shoveling food into her mouth at an unprescedented rate, that could probably cough up enough food to feed a small family for a week, that is loudly informing everyone that she is NOT wearing any UNDERWEAR right now. I realize that I'm quite misogynistic most of the time and to make such generalizations is heartless. I'm reminded of that poem by Brecht with that line "Alas, we who wanted kindness, could not be kind ourselves."

I am having a very difficult time concentrating with Bjork wailing in my ear. I really don't particularly care for her maudlin melodramatics. There is this man working at the counter that looks remarkaby like Klaus Kinski. His German has a charming Austrian lilt to it.

Whenever I am sad, I turn on the Austin classical station, KMFA. There is a woman named Diane Donnovan that absolutely cracks me up. Her voice is terribly soothing, but she consistently says the most awkward things. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her.

I will spend my latter-day with Saint Rachel. She wants to stop by this party at her boyfriend's house, and I know of a party happening at the place of this guy named Josh I met last Friday at KVRX. Brenda is also having a party in which I am urged to bring Shaun and Paul, but I dread going because I will invariably have to act like an adult and eat strange things like Coquille St. Jacques.

And so... have a fabulously fucking fantastic day. I have to flee now because they are playing the white stripes and it is getting on my nerves. This is a picture of Rachel on a stolen moped.

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