I was just smoking some cigarettes on the porch, my brain folding into itself, redshift playing somewhere. I see the solidity of my neighbor on his porch, the thin stream of a cigarette flickering, flitting, are our thoughts perfectly aligned? he glows ivory in the moon. now I have my laptop out here in the open and I write these words and he flicks the sanguine gloss of his cigarette into the air. screen slams shut. I yell at my neighbors a lot; strangely this does not endear me to them but rather makes them turn around and walk in the other direction when they see me nearby. my next door neighbors are in an emo band called the innocents, and once I heard them jabbering away (the lead singer is english and has a broad, brash accent). I started singing the song that they practice about 5,000 times a day at the top of my lungs. they stopped talking and went inside.

earlier I shaved my saint bernard, hamilton, in my pajamas. what he was doing in my pajamas, I do not know. then my 12 year old sister, faith, called me on the phone.

'christian, it's faith. what should I name all of the kittens?'

'uhh... bite-bite... umm.'

'when can I come live with you?'

'um, I'm not sure that's a very --' suddenly I heard a loud scuffling sound in my ear, someone shrieked, and the phone was dropped. more scuffling.

'uh. christian?' my sister, hope, 7, asked. 'are you there? this is hope.'

'I know who you are. where is faith?' I say carefully, drumming my fingers on the coffee table.

'she's on the floor. when are you coming? I need my birthday present... wait, Ali wants to talk to you.'

'wait, hope?' I ask.

'this is ali! am I coming this weekend? you promised to take me shopping. for my birthday. which you missed. you were in new york city...'

this is a funny story about my sister faith: faith was staying over at the same time that my friend holly was. faith woke up very early one morning, grabbed holly's pack of cigarettes (lucky strikes) off of the coffee table, and carefully broke them up into little pieces and flushed them all down the toilet. holly woke up later, groggy, looked around and lifted her slumbrous limbs into the air.

'hey, where are my cigarettes?' holly asked. faith threw a wadded up five dollar bill at her.

'here!' she screeched. 'go buy yourself a new lung!'. it's cute now but I hope she doesn't continue this into adulthood. and I'm glad that she didn't find my cigarettes.

I'm leaving for ecuador in a few days... I made a stirfry earlier with talapia, spinach, kale, broccoli, potatoes... magic... other things. I practiced the piano. I am trying to practice the piano at least four hours a day now to prepare for my juilliard application in the fall. I also rode my bike, ranger, around town lake. the day was scorched, on fire. my clothes clung. the autechre show is on wednesday, which I look forward to. here's a cute picture of my dog, quigley, playing with my rabbit, lucky.

or at least it was cute until quigley started humping lucky. two of my sisters were there, sam (16) and hope (7), and sam immediately burst into giggles as I tried to extricate the two.

'umm, I don't know what that was all about,' I said, trying to diffuse the situation. hope burst out laughing and I couldn't help but laugh too. 'they're just really good friends,' I said. here's a picture of me trying to hula-hoop with my sister hope. she calls them 'twirly-whirlies.'

I also dyed my hair an unnatural red, but I don't like it very much as it isn't red in a romantic way, but red-purplish in that 'my hair is on fire, call the ambulance' sort of way.

that's a picture of the smashing pumpkins' james iha. I saw him in a club in new york city and my feet floated over to him and I kissed him on the cheek, chattered away for about five minutes, kissed him again, and wandered away in bliss. few things irritate me like namedropping will, but I say this because I had the most enormous crush on him when I was in high school. billy corgan was too arrogant for me, but james had a dog and was quiet and had a slow smile and agile hands. my father hated the smashing pumpkins. once we were driving and I put in a cd and my father closed his eyes and sighed wearily.

'christian, this is the worst thing I've ever heard. his voice is absurd. I absolutely cannot listen to this. when you're driving your own car, you can listen to whatever you like.' I would have reason to recall this promise, later, as we drove in my first car (a 2000 lincoln navigator*). I slid in adore and prepared for my father's exasperation.

'not these awful people again. christian, please put on something listenable.'

'but this is my car,' I said.

'who bought you this car?' my father asked, and that was the end of it. blah blah boringcakes. stupidstories. but I feel a glow when I remember these things, hovering somewhere above my stomach, some small pleasure. I was listening to siamese dream in the car with scottie the other day and it really wasn't so bad. billy corgan's voice is really grating, at times, but when I was in highschool, my. it was sexy.

*later this beautiful car, with its sleek black sealskin, was repossessed

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