ephemera

"when you've lost as many arguments as i have, you come to realize that being right, like youth, is just about timing."

the metaphor for my own mortality that ran over my phone has prompted some due reflection on what i do and do not care about. about what i do and do not care. sorry.

in-progress writings. i cared a lot about those. it is an article of faith that everything happens for me to make up a reason; maybe now i'll write better stuff that cabs won't run over.

my boyfriend. i possibly didn't mention this boyfriend. or defiantly. i'm not usually other boys' boyfriend. or ever. anyways, i care a lot about him. anyway. sorry.

other things within the themes of importance or impermanence or interest to the internet in general:

• my face looks much better now that it finally has the piercing it was always missing
• mexican pete is AALLLLMMMMOSST gone. we're coming up on, like, three months. which is, like, a fourth of a year. which is, like, nutter butter crazy. (mem. write a fair-well poem.)
• there was a trashcan that was a little bit on fire and i called 911 about it and a firetruck showed up and the firemen put it out. i am no hero! only a concerned citizen.

when it's the future, i'm getting holographic flame hair that changes color with the performance of my stock portfolio. and i'm doing that before it's "the thing" to do with your holographic hair. one's holographic hair, i mean.

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 13

CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER CLIF BAR

pity porn

am i just trying to impress you with my ran-over iphone? yes i am. is it working? you tell me.

revolution

• this time it's all about good posture
• and meaning to miss
• and repetition
• this time it's not about last time
• this time it's entirely about sexy underwear
• and tweetable sex
• and getting high for human kind
• this time it's about the key change
• and moralized dental hygiene
• and repetition
• this time it's still about still being young
• and everything else it was about before
• only better

the island of misfit pregnancies

"as a voting bloc, aborted fetuses are very consistent. My Kind Of People!"

it happens occasionally, as it must, that a blogpost is begun but never finished. perhaps max steele already posted THE EXACT SAME THING. maybe mommy just doesn't want it anymore. whatever the cause, these are Love's leftovers.

left a little too late, this holiday-themed fiction is what the law would consider "partially born." i might have saved her for a different christmas but supreme court nominee hearing references just don't keep. perhaps it will offer insight into my "process." "pro," from the latin, meaning "in favor of," and "cess," meaning "poop." here we go...

the synecdochetic holidays are here!

Synecdochetic Holiday Story

One very old night, two wise men and a wise Latino woman were prospecting for oil in a demilitarized zone. They had stopped for some bumps of frankincense when, all of a sudden, a faggot with wings chasséd out from behind a sand dune.

"Be amazed, for I am a Faggot of the Lord bearing tidings of Fabulous News! To you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord! The King of Kings. The Son of God, sent to bring Peace and Love to this demilitarized zone. Other people are gonna move here just to raise their kids in this demilitarized zone. It'll be paradise again! But only if you and all of your friends believes in him."

"This sounds like a pyramid scheme," observed the wise Latino woman.

"I gonna bitch-smite yo ass. Just kidding! Ha ha ha. It's about love. HE LOVES YOU! I just told you there's a messiah baby out there who loves you. Now here's what you're gonna do about it: travel to the City of David, guided by light of yonder star. There will you find the babe, swaddled in swaddling amongst humble barnyard animals. Make him presents of frankincense, myrrh, and any other Schedule I spices you're hiding in that camel's ass. Now go and spread the Fabulous News: the Savior is born!"

And as he came, the faggot left: skipping like a gay little faggot. The three wise people, having some experience with these sorts of situations, mounted their caravan for the twinkling pink star hung high in the North sky.

Movement Two

In a demilitarized zone not too far away, three child service workers were servicing children...

that's all i got. happy 2010 everybody!

Yesterday's Gone But Where Is Tomorrow?

the hotel room i was in this time last year feels like a metaphor now. meaning displacement. and soul-crushing unhappiness. and change. it's a kindof clumsy metaphor. so i suppose it suites my clumsy existence this time last year.

i owe 2009 to a lot of people. my sister gets credit for bringing me home (and a million other wonderful things). there is a polish couple in new zealand who helped me out before i left, and a haitian cab driver who helped me when i arrived. friends of mine were good to me (special mention to ben, adam, ross) and the new friends in my life are so important, whether i am brave enough to tell them or (more often) not. my mom and dad never loose faith, at least not to my face. to miguel i owe my job. and there are people i cannot thank by name or in person (the bravery issue again). they will just have to guess that i was secretly in love with them all along and suffered deeply behind my politeness. thanks to everyone for everything. i am a team effort and i hope my sponsors are proud.

i'm searching for a metaphor to describe my existence this new year's eve. i have a lot of interesting things to say but i need to think about them more. i'll try to tell you another time. when we're better people.